Brightest Before Nightfall
by CrimsonSquadRecorder
Summary: If everything you hold dear descends into darkness, the only thing left to do is claw your way back into the light. Elenar, a Dunmer who had her life torn apart, joins the Dark Brotherhood for that very reason. But when that new familiarity falls to the mercy of betrayal, and the only other person she can trust is threatened, the road to dawn seems too far to travel.
1. Ch1: The Unknown Observer

**Chapter 1**

**The Unknown Observer**

The Speaker perched himself high above the moving group, on an overlooking rock on the side of the snow-covered mountain. High enough for him to remain undetected, but in the perfect position to observe their every move, and to strike accordingly when they appeared at their most unwary. Despite the deepest midnight colour of the hood and robe he wore, the bandits, as they had become not an hour ago, had hardly noticed their tracker in the steadily falling snow, making their way back to Skyrim through the Dunmeth Pass. This was a good sign. It was almost time.

The five of them were powerful, but unlike the Speaker above them, they relied solely on brute force and threatening words rather than tact and careful planning, but the art of stealth was the main difference between them and their unseen hunter. Today, as he had witnessed, most Nords were rather predictable.

The contract received had meant to go to the Falkreath Sanctuary, to the South West corner of Skyrim, but it had been agreed that each group operate within their own province, and these particular targets had unfortunately been taking a brief trip to Cyrodiil on their little raiding travels. 'Unfortunately' only for them, the Speaker thought.

He had followed them from Cheydinhal, through a pass in the Valus Mountain range, leading him across the border into Morrowind. Judging by the large empty sacks they had brought with them, the mass of weapons as well as the known Nord prejudice against the Dunmer, the Speaker had worked out their plan probably before they even discussed it themselves.

They appeared as though they were amateurs, either robbed a few camps, unwitting Khajiit caravans, or simply craved the thrill of ruining the lives of people they didn't even know. Ironic, the Speaker had contemplated, that the Dark Brotherhood could do the same thing, but not punished as this group were going to be. No. The Dark Brotherhood were different. As it said in the Black Sacrament, 'the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear': only an individual who had done such wrong to another was worthy of such treatment. This elevated the Brotherhood's reputation to a far superior cause than these lowlifes, who did not seem to care who was targeted.

The Speaker wondered at the cynicism that had entered his mind recently. It had started with a number of Family members found murdered, some within Sanctuaries. Trust of the current recruits was beginning to waver for him, but this should not cloud his judgement of the cause he served, or Sithis and the Night Mother themselves. He was the hardest worker of all the Black Hand members concerning this issue. Eventually, the traitor would be brought to justice.

As predicted, the amateurs avoided the paths that led to any major cities or towns, so that had crossed off any chance of moving into the central Vvardenfell. They would also want to show off their conquest to any Skyrim city they could get to afterwards, and could get back in only by the winding and narrow Dunmeth Pass that eventually led to Windhelm.

The Speaker was only too aware of the Imperial control in the city of Blacklight, and the surrounding troop camps around the Pass entrance, but the amount of them was unknown. His safest option was to fall behind a little when they entered, to sneak in silently while they boasted to each other about what they had done, what they had 'achieved'. He could simply continue on through the Pass, and later cross back over the Cyrodiil border via Riften. He had his plan. All that was unknown now was theirs.

As the journey progressed north, and the arrogant conversation of the group slowly died, the Speaker wondered whether they had abandoned this supposed raid, simply making the decision to return home. But he did not let his guard down. Nords were proud, and despised defeat. They wouldn't return empty handed.

Eventually, they'd seen it: their target. It wasn't much, but nor was this group's experience. From the looks of it, this was a family farm, though the few crops had been harvested a short time ago, probably sold on by now. Crops were a rare sight in the Dunmer province, so they had possibly gained a considerable amount for them. The only animals in sight were a few chickens, a cow and a tall black horse, already saddled, which the Speaker was sure the group had spied before anything else, seeing it only as a means of making money. The Speaker had not brought his own horse, Shadowmere, for this very reason - if they had seen him, they'd no doubt turn all force on him. Capable as he was, a pre-emptive strike from hardy Nords would put his specialty of stealth in jeopardy.

Just as the Speaker had realised their intent on the farm, they had advanced, no previous planning, no thought of the inhabitants' ability, just a pure and simple hit and run attitude in their minds.

This surprisingly swift attack had left the Speaker at a crossroads in his plan, as well as a disadvantage: he could wait for them to emerge, exhausted but running on adrenaline after they raided the house, as he only expected them to loot and threaten the owners not to try anything. Moments after this thought had ceased, a blood-curdling scream told him otherwise. This was the disadvantage.

This new knowledge of the group's willingness to attack even innocents had become clear. Simply their instinct to attack had caused the Speaker to tread ever more carefully when tracking them here. His skill in stealth had to be at its peak when he struck them down. An invisibility spell he had failed to purchase before the journey would have been highly valued at this point in time. He would have to reconsider on his return to Cyrodiil.

The Speaker was helpless to the events unfolding in front of him: if he decided to attack now, the owners would believe he was a part of the first group, so would fight back. In addition to this, the Nords would then be aware that they were being tracked, or at least found out, and would want nothing more than to dispose of the Speaker in the closed environment of the house, where they would be at a high advantage, able to outnumber and overpower him.

He had no choice but to watch as the farmstead was raided, the inhabitants putting up a brave fight despite the element of surprise from the Nord group. Two of them, just a few minutes after they had barged their way through the door, were battled out by a furious dark elf woman, whose strength went to waste as she failed to hear the third behind her, the bow and arrows in his possession his choice for taking her down. The Speaker was aware that there were, or had been others inside, the ringing sounds of clashing iron and steel a clear indicator of this.

The dark elves had given them a strong resistance, but the pure upper hand strength of their invaders had eventually won over.

By the time the house had been left bare, and the assumed fallen family of Dunmer left disrespectfully where they once called home, the bandits exited the house. The once empty sacks they carried had been filled with anything they could get their hands on while one of them stood guard outside, clutching the horse's reins until the loot was piled on to it as though it were nothing but a cart. As the Speaker had believed, they continued on their path to the North, bragging and joking on the way to their unseen demise.

It seemed as though a lifetime had passed between then and now, but their jovial mood had not changed, nor had the Speaker's attention to detail and stealth. They had to move half a mile or so before the contract could be completed, otherwise he ran the risk of the Imperial sentinels overhearing, knowing a Black Hand member when they saw one thanks to Adamus Phillida, head of the guard in the Imperial City and beyond, his life dedicated to eradicating the Dark Brotherhood. He had to lay low for a short while longer, patience and caution dictating his every action.

Though his full and unhindered attention was focused on the Nords below, he had become aware of movement to the left of his peripheral vision. The sense that he was being followed by something for perhaps a mile from the Pass had plagued him. At first, paranoia that it was one of the group had held him frozen to the spot, tense and prepared to lash out if they got close. But, glancing back down, the five of them still remained where he last saw them. Of course it couldn't be one of them.

The Morag Tong perhaps? If one of their members had witnessed what was done to that farm, the Speaker could only assume they'd be angered enough to follow...but it occurred to him that if it was a highly skilled professional assassin, he would never be able to sense them in the first place.

The unknown made him nervous. AS soon as he saw for himself what this was, he would be able to carry out the rest of his task. After all, the targets weren't going anywhere fast.

Turning his head slowly, he saw for the first time the shadow by which he had been made to feel so uneasy, but instead of the antagonist he suspected, what it really was turned out to be altogether different.

Staring with vicious determination in her scarlet eyes was a dark elf, who appeared to be shut off from everything else in the world but the same group of Nords he tracked himself. By no means was she an assassin, but so far, the skill she harboured was already high, and the Speaker hoped that she knew how to use the longsword she had sheathed beside her, as then she could get through an easy initiation into the Dark Brotherhood...but that was beside the point. What was she doing here?

The Speaker found himself distracted by this new presence, but found comfort in the fact that she was keeping such close watch on the targets on his behalf; if she had waited as long as he believed, she would possibly take them down with the same capability. In her left hand he saw the silver glint of a dagger, though he didn't believe this could do much damage unless professionally wielded against the crafted Nord armour - steel plated, he had noted previously.

Dragging his gaze (which he did with surprising hesitation) back to the group below for a moment, he realised they had moved a seemingly short distance from the height he was at, though they had reached the very point of action in his plan. The five seemed confident in the fact they had bypassed any threat, their body language relaxed, eyes hardly focused on their surroundings, ears barely in touch with any sound but their own voices. The Speaker's eyes widened a little in silent celebration as he felt a small smile of anticipation. This was it.

His sight remained fixed on his targets as one hand carefully pulled the hilt of the shortsword he carried from its sheathe, slowly as to not cause the metallic ring to reach them.

Strangely, yet automatically, his eyes darted left to the ledge where the dark elf stood, as though that one fleeting consideration of her as a Dark Brotherhood recruit now made him think of her as a detached companion. She'd hardly moved from her first arrival. She still stood in stone, her eyes fierce and boiling over with hate. Though at the first the Speaker had only focused on the weapons she carried, as he had trained himself to do with everyone at first contact, his eyes did not pull away as easily this time. She'd made him curious.

He was searching for some kind of reason, a motivation for her behaviour. She looked capable of defending herself, that could not be denied; a sellsword of some kind? Although the seemingly personal level of resentment on her face contradicted this. If not hired then...the Speaker's eyes eventually settled on fairly fresh bruising on her neck. So recent in fact that the redness of force was still noticeable, even from his chosen position of observation. Just above the gauntlets she wore were more signs of violence, here being both bruising and scratches, although whether they had been caused by a blade or nails, he could not be sure.

The Speaker's mind immediately cast him back to the isolated farmhouse, now left in ruin by the group. It was the only explanation left, and it looked as if she was the only one left in pursuit. He didn't know what they'd done, but it was easy enough to imagine. He almost wanted for her to kill them instead, to get what she came for, but this was his contract after all.

Reluctantly yet again, he faced the group below. Only a split second that movement had taken, but by the time he was focused again, the circumstances had already changed.

One member of the group was in mid-fall, a dagger protruding from his throat as blood began to flow profusely out from the wound. The rest were now highly alert, either drawing their weapons or shouting at the nothingness around them. Before the Speaker could even turn to the dark elf, there she had appeared on the path behind them, sword in hand. The Nords, their stereotypical one-track minds coming into play, advanced one by one to attack, the only one leading the horse abandoning his hold on the reins and the loot, realising what he'd done only when it was spooked and galloping into the distance.

Their gung-ho attitude was no match for her tactical approach and prowess. As the elected ringleader of the four reached her, greatsword swinging slowly and heavily in front of him, she dropped below its reach and plunged her own blade through his kneecap. Howling pitifully in pain, the first Nord collapsed in a heap on the snow covered ground, attempting to hold the wound as though keeping the blood in place. He would of course, inevitably fail.

The second in line held both an iron shield and sword, and brought the blade down with maximum strength towards her. Though raising her own sword in time, she was pushed backwards by the sheer force in his strike, almost collapsing on the ground. The Speaker could see the luminescent red of her eyes dart towards the third and fourth members of the group who were now getting closer, terrified of the consequence of defeat.

The Speaker rose in preparation to help, just as the Nord who pinned her down raised his sword again, thinking he was able to break her defence this time. With skilled agility, the dark elf rolled right, all but springing to her feet as the sword crashed down where she had once lay. She allocated only half a second of confusion to cross the Nord's face as his head raised in her direction, before allowing her blade to make a swift clean slice across his throat. A last breath was drawn in vain as he fell forwards, still and cold.

Simultaneously, the two Nords left standing skidded awkwardly to a halt on the layer of ice they ran over, staring in shock and fear at the once believed to be weak girl glaring back at them. If the Speaker's presumptions were correct, this seemed to be role reversal: their friends now lay slaughtered at their feet - though the first attacker was still writhing in agony because of his shattered knee - just as she had watched while they murdered her own family.

In their hesitation, she wasted no time in leaping towards the dagger still in her first victim's neck, and all in one movement, fluidly flung it at the closest group member, piercing the underside of his lower jaw. Staggering, he choked violently on his own blood, fear taking over as he too fell, the expression of shock on his face forever frozen.

So focused were both she and the Speaker on this certain kill, short lived as it was, they had failed to follow the progress of the last remaining member, who had put off moving forward. The Speaker's eyes had automatically been moving in her path of attack, his admiration and respect growing for her with every combat skill shown in her retaliation. It was then he noticed the missing man. He scanned over the small area until he spotted him, fulfilling his role of the coward by fleeing in the opposite direction while she was distracted by his friend. No doubt he was running for help, to the Imperial guards close by patrolling the Morrowind side of the Pass.

The Speaker was helpless to intervene now. The guards would know who he was just by clothing, and officially there was no allegiance between him and the elf, so he had no real duty to help her. If he attempted it, and the guards arrived, he would be serving unnecessary time in prison. He had grown accustomed now to being able to slip past about any security forces, including the Blades, the Emperor's personal protection. Prison had become a somewhat distant, understandably forgettable memory.

He only hoped she was as fast as she was stealthy. He was only too aware of how any female prisoner was treated, no matter what race. It hardly mattered to the prison guards who patrolled the cells; mindless and violent, believing themselves above all others and that they could do whatever they wanted to anyone they wanted, simply because of the uniform they wore. Although, the Speaker had just witnessed how she dealt with these kinds of people.

The dark elf had turned to the sound of the Nord's sprinting footfalls, the crunching of the snow beneath him hardly for staging a getaway. The fact that Nords had endurance on their side was a disadvantage, as she had no time to retrieve her dagger or to even be able to cripple him at this range and position. Dread spread across her face as he disappeared into the slow rising mist created by the forming frost crystals on the ground. The Pass now looked like nothing but the single spot where she stood, though the mist thinned with height, but heavy and thick with cold on the pathway. She had no way of knowing where anything or anyone was. Pure and simple isolation. Entrapment in the very place she had tried to free her mind of the need for vengeance. She was scared, that the Speaker could plainly see. He considered at least helping her to hide, but then what would he do with her after that? She would be reliant on him then. Even association with the Dark Brotherhood could wind you up with a life sentence or worse. Any choice he made had more disadvantages than advantages.

The Dunmer sheathed her sword, and from what the Speaker could see, she was now frantically deliberating the options of either continuing a long route into Skyrim, or attempting to climb back up the rocks and out of sight.

The Nord with the injured knee had either died from blood loss or simply passed out from the sheer pain of his wound, as he had ceased whimpering a short while ago. Seeing this, she knelt and unbuckled the quiver of arrows he carried, as well as a hunting bow on his back, equipping them for herself.

Sounds of shouts came swiftly after, causing the Speaker to look towards the Morrowind border, knowing as well as her what that meant. His attention was drawn back to her. She was paralysed in fear, knowing full well she would be neutralised in the numbers approaching. The Speaker silently willed her to move, staring intensely as though the message could somehow make its way through to her mind.

Whatever it was, life finally flooded back into her and, facing back to the slanted cliff face, she took a short run to the nearest rock and pushed herself up from the ground with all her remaining strength, barely grabbing the top before pulling herself up. Looking on, the Speaker knew that if she made the next climb, it would be a simple enough way up to where he had first seen her. She could make this, then make her escape. Only one word could hinder her.

"Fire!"

The gravelled voice bellowed through the biting air, followed immediately by the twang of bows and whistle of soaring arrows. Half a second passed between the dark elf facing towards the sound and the actual impact of the arrows on the rock. The Speaker's height was out of range of the onslaught - he approximated at most five different hits - but the elf on the other hand, was right in their line of fire.

He heard her stifled whimper of pain, knowing she'd been hit. Her face showed the fear and shock that convulsed through her body at the thought of the threat below. She still aimed to climb the rock she faced, even when the wind underneath another arrow could be heard. It shot through her lower arm, and she immediately drew back this hand from the rock. The cry could not be subdued this time. A single tormented sound tore from her throat, alerting the archers that they got what they came for.

The Speaker knew they'd carry on shooting until she was brought to the ground, and there was no way she could escape it now. She was too isolated for the guards to resist treating her as prey.

They were gathered below now, and the Speaker moved backwards out of their eyeline, but still keeping a close watch on the dark elf, who had just lost her gripping and fallen back on to the first ledge. Her gasping in terror as well as desperation could be heard even from his position, its occasional breaking telling him she was attempting to wage war against brimming tears. She was aware she couldn't fight back. Aware that she was defeated. The one thing she didn't want her attackers aware of was that she, like anyone else, had the potential to allow that skin of steel to crumble. She didn't want them aware that they might be able to win; and the Speaker held the greatest of respects for her about this.

"Get down here now, grey-skin!" the runaway Nord demanded, safe in the centre of the group of guards he had been to fetch. "Pay for what you've done!"

She rose calmly from the crouched position she knelt in, so that she sat proudly above them, although still holding her injured and bloody arm. Her head moved slowly towards him, so that her eyes burned through his.

"Not until you've paid," she uttered menacingly. "I see nothing against me but an act of revenge. I thought you, of all races, would accept that."

After the hard and almost drunk sounding voices the Speaker had heard all this while, her crystal cut accent had not been something he'd expected. Its tone was higher than many Dunmer he'd encountered, but predictably, she did not sound as arrogant as some. From the response given, she also sounded intelligent, quick-witted, and certainly not a person to shout down.

"What would you know of our race, Elf?" he spat as his expression tightened. "I suppose you and your kind aren't sophisticated enough to know better."

She must have been feeling excruciating pain due to her injuries, but yet she managed a mocking smile, her expression remaining calm in contradiction to her appearance.

"That's a bit ironic coming from you, don't you think?" she replied, raw contempt resounding in her voice. She knew that nothing could save her, so seemed to want to keep whatever dignity she had left before she let them win: in control until the end.

"Why you..." the Nord began, but his rage prevented him from finishing his sentence. Still fuming, he glared from her to the guards, who still seemed loyal to their somewhat 'commander', before barking an order at them.

"Don't just stand there! Take her down!"

Remaining absolutely in control of her actions, the Dunmer simply turned away from them, the brilliance of her crimson eyes disappearing from sight as they were shut.

The Speaker's only focus was on her. The utter strength and endurance she'd shown was admirable, her skill perhaps superior even to some of his best recruits in Cheydinhal. He did not even want to look at the faces of the people who were about to lay all this talent to waste. He expected an arrow from the guards...

...But instead she was pulled from view; a rope flung around her injured arm before she fell from the ledge down to the uninviting ice sheet below. He heard the hard impact as she met the ground, along with a short cry of pain amongst the once repressed sobs of fear.

A far more brutal guard than the rest of the group stepped towards her, the coil of attached rope in his hand, tightening and pulling it slightly in sick satisfaction. The Imperial helmet he wore shrouded his face in darkness, but under that shadow the Speaker predicted the same predatory and leering gaze as a hunter aiming a sure shot at whatever unfortunate animal had caught his eye.

The place where she lay was covered by the ledge, but everything could be heard in the echoed passage through the mountains.

"Honestly thought you could take the easy route, criminal scum?" a threatening Niben accent questioned mockingly. The Nord clearly hadn't delved back any further than fifteen minutes when explaining what had happened that day.

A further whimper came from the elf, so the Speaker expected he'd tightened the rope again. The Nord's face transformed from anger into a sinister smile.

"Oh no, you're going to take short stay in Cyrodiil, the Imperial prison no less," he continued, his tone sadistic yet ironically comforting. He was enjoying every single second of this. "I do hope you'll enjoy your visit. I know we certainly will."

She must have tried to lash out, because she was shoved swiftly away, in sight again, onto the pathway. There was no sound of hurting from her this time; she didn't want to give them the gratification. The Speaker could see that the guard had used the rope her wrists together now, partly because she couldn't fight back, and partly because he now had the pleasure of leading her around as if she were an untrained dog. She had more presence than any one of them, yet she was being shown such disrespect, almost because of it.

The Speaker still held the sword he'd carried here, and if there was ever a time he'd considered using it, now seemed perfect. But, however much personal feeling he had developed towards the girl, there was no way he could compromise the Brotherhood. It would only cause more tracking by Adamus Phillida, and perhaps success this time. Remorsefully, he sheathed it, and continued to watch the scene unfold before him.

She was yanked to her feet and pulled up to almost eye level with the guard. The Speaker peered in closely. The guard was talking to her, though nothing could be heard from the mountain as his teeth were gritted; the only thing it could be was threatening.

As the guard continued to try and stare her down, he grew quickly frustrated with the lack of outward fear he was receiving. She may have been terrified inside, but the icy glare won whatever game he was trying to play.

Clearly, he'd never experienced resistance before. He responded in possibly the only way he was intelligent enough to understand: violence.

Without a hint of hesitation, he struck the side of her face with one armoured hand, sending her back to the ground in a pitiful heap. A couple of his group stepped back in shock, but did not protest. Either they were partly used to this behaviour, or they cowered before him as much as his victims. Perhaps both.

"I'll take her to the City myself," he stated, his tone commanding submission. "The rest of you stay here. Help with the bodies."

With that, he tugged the rope hard again out of pure callousness, causing a drained and exhausted groan from the dark elf, the stamina in her spent now. She was barely standing, probably concussed as she was practically dragged back towards Blacklight, totally unable to fight back any more.

The other guards and remaining Nord were left motionless where they stood, the Nord disappointed that he had not been the one to finish her. But the Speaker had lost interest in the target. He would inform the Dawnstar Sanctuary of the contract. Emphasis on making sure it was painful would be the first instruction.

Three days later, following his return to Cheydinhal, the Speaker knew he'd spent a long time thinking of the dark elf from the Pass. More than he'd expected. It had surprised him just how much he was concerned for her well-being - deeply concerned - and he had reason to be, based on what he'd witnessed of her captor's behaviour.

As instructed, he had received word from Dawnstar of the demise of the Nord, and in homage they had sent one of their Dunmer recruits to complete the started job. Good news as this was, it didn't distract him from the fact that the girl still remained locked inside the Imperial prison, dead for all he knew. This disturbed far more than it would normally: on many contracts, he'd watched others fight for their lives, many of whom had been killed, but there was something more to her. Though he had no connection to her, didn't even know her name, but she'd earned his respect, which was not something easily given.

What he pictured was the defiant spark in her blood red eyes as she stood adjacent to him on the cliff top, her sharply soft features poised in focus of the targets. Describing her as beautiful would be strange to anyone else, anyone who knew what intentions she had at that moment, but to the Speaker, that's what she was.

He could have easily wondered about breaking her out, if she was still there, but did not even want to plan how it would be executed: she should not be his concern, should not be the Dark Brotherhood's concern, or their problem. Yet in his memory she still remained...

Despite the amount of time the events replayed themselves in his head, he had his duties with the Black Hand to attend to, so for a short while he had no need for the memory, which became just the shadow of a thought that came to him from time to time. The time spent contemplating her fate decreased over this time; the assumption of execution being the main and most realistic possibility. The Speaker did not like to ponder on such a brave act and know that one person had let it all go to waste, as well as the life of such a talented young woman. The details sometimes hazed in his mind, but the image of her face was as strong as anything. Although, for five months, he had no obligation to recognise it.

The end of this time came on the twenty-seventh day of Last Seed on a late afternoon, when the frosts began to melt away from the velvet green lands of Cyrodiil, though the Northern city of Bruma still felt the crisp cold air from Skyrim. The Speaker had no orders to fulfil this day, and had none to relay to the Sanctuary, and he certainly did not want to spend the day inside his own dimly lit residence of Fort Farragut. He had travelled the few miles on Shadowmere to Lake Rumare, which surrounded the Imperial City. Normally he would not have gotten so close to the hordes of legion members who patrolled the inside of the great white walls, but Shadowmere's restlessness had continued to increase, so the distance was only right for her.

As he surveyed the outer walls, perhaps for scouts that Phillida had planted, he saw something strange. The usually, locked and bolted gate to the Imperial sewers was swinging ajar in the slight breeze that the Spring brought with it, no attention being paid to it. There had also been no guard patrols outside the City, nor on the path tracks nearby. Obviously, something had happened inside the Imperial City for the patrols to be called back inside. Something important, to them at least: the Brotherhood did not concern themselves with political or leadership matters. Now taking down leadership, that could be interesting.

As the Speaker had begun to turn his attention to the surroundings, checking pathways again for approaching troops, the sound of impact on water distracted him. With hawk-like response, his head spun towards the source of the noise, the splash remnants still resettling in front of the pier that led from the sewer gate.

His uneasiness of this event passed also to Shadowmere, who moved backwards a little, ready to flee from or fight whatever it was. He then had a thought - if the sewers led from the passage to the Imperial Prison, chances were that one of the inmates had got lucky, pick pocketed a guard somehow in the distraction that appeared to be going on. The only thing they'd be interested in was running as far as they could from that place.

While his thoughts and eyes were still on the end of the pier, he hadn't noticed the silhouette that passed beneath the water to the shore. The deep gasp for air was heard though, and the Speaker faced the point where this person had emerged, coughing and spluttering, more out of breath that what that distance of swimming would cause. They stood, walked a few steps, but consequently dropped to their knees on the sand, exhausted and dripping wet.

The first thing the Speaker noticed was that there were iron cuffs around their wrists, confirming his suspicions of an escapist. Their build was strong but petite, so the Speaker assumed they were female. The pale grey skin tone was obviously Dunmer, but there were a number of fairly skinny dark elf men, so he did not want to jump to any conclusions.

The Dunmer raised their head, and leant back so that they were eventually sitting up straight, trying to catch their breath while gazing in silent triumph at the golden bathed hills of emerald that welcomed them to freedom. Pushing their above-shoulder length charcoal hair back, which shone crimson in the sunlight, the Speaker saw their face, and surprisingly, not for the first time.

In awe of the determination she must have shown all this time, he could not help but gaze fixedly in admiration at her. His first reaction was to scan over her for injuries or any signs of torture, but aside from a few minor bruises and scarring cuts on her arms, she appeared in good health. The last time he'd seen her was five months ago - he was shocked that she was still alive.

In one hand he noticed she held a ring of keys, answering the question of how she got out of her cell, but not how she managed to find the passage to the lake. The Speaker could only speculate about this, but assumed she had been trying to plan it for a long time.

Also attached to the same arm was a loop of thin rope, which she had now begun to pull from the water. What emerged was a sack cloth bag bulging with supplies. No doubt she'd obtained everything that had been taken from her - and anything else she could get her hands on - while the guards were distracted by whatever event taking place in the City. Of course she knew that her belongings were also drenched by now, but that was not her concern for the moment.

For the second time, she hauled herself to her feet, but found her balance on this occasion. The success and vitality in her face had given way to a little panic. She obviously had no knowledge of where she was, or what she was going to do next. As motivation, she slung the bag over her shoulder and tried to search for any signs of landmarks she could aim for.

The Speaker had been able to steer backwards to a safer distance while she was overcome with liberty. Luckily she was not aware of being watched, though he could not tell whether this was a good or bad thing based on the circumstances.

Despite the prisoner's attire she was still clad in, the aura of presence he remembered from what seemed so long ago was still in effect. She may not have felt it, but strength resonated from her, physically and of spirit; his gaze would not rip away from her, as though captivated by the fiery resolve that eventually returned to her eyes.

As a dark elf, the trait of pride could prove either to be very positive or very negative. In the case of the girl who stood just over thirty metres away, the Speaker considered it to be the best possible thing to rely on. She refused to be put down by something so trivial as geography. Her thoughts could almost be tracked: she knew the Imperial City was the capital, which was obvious. She figured out that not too far away, by following any roadway that took her fancy, she'd be able to reach a small inn or town, and eventually, another main city.

With this, she spontaneously turned her attention West, in the direction of Chorrol the Speaker knew, simply took a single deep breath and began to walk. Not slowly of course, she still wanted to escape from any attention she may attract.

The Speaker could have followed, but decided against it. She didn't need to be spooked at this very moment, not after what she'd already been through. But the previous consideration of initiating her into the Dark Brotherhood was standing its ground, and stronger than before.

The truth was that he had no choice about that: she had intervened in a contract meant for the Brotherhood. It was either forcing her to repent for this by offering further blood to Sithis, or allowing her the opportunity to join the ranks. The Speaker's personal favourite was the latter.

He'd allow her the time she needed to gather herself together again, to reclaim every ounce of the strength she once had, and to get used to being back in the real world. Only then would she be able to make a clear headed decision.

The Speaker would easily be able to track her progress, locate her, and eventually approach her with his offer. He didn't know how long it would take, but he was willing to wait. She would be a perfect addition to the Family.


	2. Ch 2: The Chance of Light

**Chapter 2**

**The Chance of Light**

Being greeted by the statue of a dead body wasn't the best of signs when I pushed my way through the gigantic iron framed gate into Chorrol. But this city was out of the way, secluded up here in the forests that shrouded the hills outside the walls.

It was approaching late evening, the sky beginning to darken, and the first spattering of raindrops were beginning to fall to the cobbled paving below. No weather I wasn't used to. Morrowind had its fair share of rainstorms.

Morrowind...now that seemed far away.

But I wouldn't risk going back there. Not for now. Maybe not ever. The guards would know I escaped sooner or later, even though I was the most ignored person in the prison, save the one who brought me there, who had stopped by once or twice a week to sneer and brag. Once in a while he'd been nice enough as to take any anger he had pent up out on me. I had the most recent darkening bruises to prove it.

Morrowind would be the first place anyone looked, so I'd just chosen to go in the opposite direction, staying at inns for a few days at a time before reaching this point; swiping poorly hidden coin in the guards' quarters had been surprisingly easy.

Cyrodiil so far was a heavy contrast. For one thing, I could actually see the colour green in the landscape here, but the city seemed a little unstructured. I couldn't distinguish between what could be housing and stores, and I just wanted to find an inn now. It had taken me at least two hours to walk to Chorrol from Aleswell Inn, and all I'd felt was paranoia for that time.

It wasn't just normal nerves or panic but more along the lines of fear and anxiety. It was understandable though, seeing I didn't have a clue who anyone was, where to go, or who to trust. I had no one but my own mind trying to play games with my senses. Since I'd left the first inn I'd found - Roxey, I think it was called - I felt more exposed somehow, as though eyes were boring into the back of my skull as I walked. Each time I turned it was nothing, but the feeling wouldn't disperse. My ears and mind were picking something up, even if my eyes tried to deceive me. But in the end, about a mile or so from Chorrol's south gate, I passed it off as a trick of the mind. If a guard wanted to hurt me, he would have done it by then, and I'd be carted off back to the Imperial Prison; I'd already seen and heard what they did to escapees.

That was the reason I was so far away from my homeland. The place I'd grown up in and lived quite contentedly for twenty eight years. I didn't want to be recognised, pointed out by some selfish do-gooder in need of gold. But truth be known, no one would know me in any cities, at least not since we'd moved out of one, so long ago I didn't even remember what it was called. Small towns, yes, but nowhere that was of any interest to Imperial guards. No one would know me because I'd chosen to immerse myself in books and combat training rather than sleep around like other young and stupid Dunmer girls, still unaware they'd just get dropped on the sidelines when the person they'd tricked themselves into believing loved them back got bored. They might recognise me, but they didn't know me. They probably couldn't even name me. The only people who really knew me were my family but they...well, I wouldn't see them again for a long while.

Conclusively, I couldn't risk it. Wouldn't risk it. I wasn't even sure whether I could face going back to the farm - so many happy memories sundered by one group of...animals. Barged in, uncaring, unfeeling for anyone but their own. The memory both infuriated and frightened me, and as much as I tried or wished, I knew it would never leave.

I wanted something, anything to keep myself from being found. The long hours of the prison days felt like years, decades when they deliberately forgot to bring food to our cells. I didn't want any feeling of helplessness like that to take over me ever again.

But, first thing's first, I needed somewhere to rest. Scanning around the area, I spotted a promising looking building, to the left side of the statue. It stood tall and proud against the gloom of the rising rain mist, candlelight illuminating the visible windows like beacons in the night. It felt so good to see a sense of vibrant life again, small and subtle though it was to others around, many ignoring what hope this sight truly was: I'd not eaten properly in five months, stuck continually in one dark and claustrophobic space, the only scent of freedom coming from the miniscule barred window on the back wall.

Before I knew it, I was halfway across the square, the burning lights getting closer and closer, and...wait. There it was again, that paranoia. I stopped dead in my tracks, my muscles tense, my senses open. Fingering the hilt of my sword sheathed at my side, I spun to face my follower, real or imaginary. Predictably, like the previous times, nothing. I was almost disappointed, but more so relieved.

"What is it, citizen?" a strong Colovian accent enquired curiously.

I was dangerously close to the edge at this point, so I hadn't needed this sudden booming voice so close to me, especially from a guard, well-meaning as he appeared to be. My reply was to jump back at least a foot, attempting not to cry out in fear. His face changed from shocked, to confused, to deeply apologetic. I would have answered him, explained even, before everything had happened of course. Any one person in absolute authority filled me with such dread, and just the very profession broke the floodgates of my memory bank.

Pushing them back, I edged away from his still puzzled expression, back towards the door of the inn. Fine, so the anxiety was just the fear of guards in general, it didn't mean anyone was out to get me. Except some were - that was the problem. That guard would no doubt pass a comment or two about the strange elf he saw in the square to others he met. In turn, they'd watch out for anything I did in the city, and if anyone asked about me, they'd know exactly who was being referred to...

But I was breathing too quickly again, feeling those cold and heartless stone prison walls closing in around me...

My eyes fell on the candle in the closest window, now fully visible. The warmth of this melted the ice forming in my mind's eye, and my focus was once again on freedom. Restricting my chain of memories was something I'd have to work on.

The Oak and Crosier, as the inn was called, was far grander than it appeared from the exterior. An illuminated chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling, its edges gold banded and glittering. The combination of the intoxicating burning wax of the candles and farm-like smell of hops and stale alcohol spelt home to me. It seemed to be a classy bar above all, so this was how they stayed open, judging also by the number of people sitting at surrounding oak tables. It looked as though it could be half the population of residents.

Nobody paid me any attention as the front door was slammed shut by the strength of the gale outside, which had picked up parallel to the heaviness of rain. The drinks and atmospheric music from the resident bard kept them distracted, but I assumed that strangers and travellers weren't a completely uncommon sight here.

Approaching the bar, a female Khajiit with sandy fur and brown eyes peered over from the other corner of it, mid-conversation with another customer. Her eyes scanned over the now slightly over-sized olive tunic and leather greaves I wore, both dirt-stained and creased with wear. The leather boots at least still fit me - what had decreased was my weight, not foot size.

She excused herself pleasantly from the talk she was having with the male Argonian sitting, well, slumping on the barstool next to where I stood. He seemed quite drunk already; he probably wouldn't remember even talking to anyone in five minutes time, so my arrival probably saved the Khajiit from a very long and repetitive conversation.

"Travelled far?" she asked rhetorically, her eyes motioning towards the sack cloth bag that I carried on my shoulder. I smiled in agreement at her question.

"We don't get many travellers on the Black Road any more, so it's nice to see a new face now and again," she continued, ears pricking up as she spoke. "I am sorry. I digress; you must be exhausted!"

"A little," I replied, suddenly aware of how tired I really was. Walking for miles and having a phantom follower could do that to you.

"Ah, well, this one is Talasma," the third person usage referring to her own name, "and I own this place, The Oak and Crosier. There is one bed available for the night, for ten gold if you're interested."

I definitely had enough to afford that, so there wasn't much thought before my reply.

"I'll take it."

"Excellent," Talasma responded, her feline smile wide. "It's just up the stairs and the first door on the left. Sleep well, and I hope you enjoy your stay."

While she spoke, I'd already started to search through the bag for the coin purses I'd 'found' when I gathered supplies I needed to get out of that damn prison block, and pushed the gold across the counter towards the Khajiit, smiling best I could.

Talasma reached over to the gold pieces and drew them towards her. As she did so, her face changed to an unfathomable expression, her eyes focused on the counter as her ears flattened a little. I looked down also, and realised my hand still rested there. I knew what was affecting her: the scarring and relatively fresh cuts marked all around my wrists like battle scars where iron cuffs had once been.

I'd managed, after hours to pick the locks on them a few days ago, but the bastards had set them to be so tight even unlocked that I'd been forced to torturously attempt to push them off over my hands. I'd ended up with scraped off layers of skin on the top of both hands, bleeding vigorously but at least free. The only thing I'd done to celebrate was to cry in relief, but not for long. Although they couldn't see me, I didn't want to think I'd given the prison guards the satisfaction of finally being able to break me.

I retracted my arm by pulling the bag strap back over my shoulder. I met her confused gaze briefly but had to look away.

"Rough travels," I lied sheepishly before trying to reassure her of my good intentions with a nervous smile.

She nodded and replied with a small forced smile before holding out the key to my room. More quickly than I should have, I took it from her hand and turned towards the stairs. I felt her eyes follow my footsteps to the room's door, but I understood why. I'd learned that anyone living in Cyrodiil, no matter what race, were highly opposed to the peace being disturbed. That's why they lived in the safe proximity of the centre of the Empire. I just looked to Talasma as though I was one of these disturbances.

I opened the door to find a spacious room, complete with cupboards, a wardrobe and luxurious double bed in the centre of the room, headboard pushed up against the left wall between two sideboards. On the table adjacent to the door were three already lit candles, causing half of the room to be bathed in a comforting glow, the other half in gentle darkness. This was perfect.

I shut the door behind me, locked it, and immediately collapsed onto the royal blue duvet, all but sinking into the impossibly soft mattress. I allowed my drained body to lose responsibility, to simply stop moving, to stop running. All thoughts dissolved away, until I might as well have been comatosed. For the first time in a long time, I actually felt free, my eyes becoming drowsy as I placed the bag on the floor.

After what could have been a minute or an hour, though I imagined that the real time was probably longer than what I predicted, I woke to a sound I had trained myself to respond to: the sound of a key, or even a lockpick in the door.

I was highly alert then, but tried desperately to muffle my panicked breathing pattern. This was it, I thought, they'd actually managed to track me here, though it wouldn't have been difficult. I knew that first innkeeper couldn't be trusted. Claustrophobia...

But I stayed down though. If they thought I was still sleeping, they wouldn't be expecting a counter-attack. I unsheathed the sword I still carried by my side, and held the hilt to my chest as I turned over carefully to face the wall instead of the door. Surprisingly I succeeded in remaining motionless as the lock finally clicked in submission.

Whoever it was, they weren't wearing Imperial armour. Their footfalls were too quiet for that. The fleeting idea that it could be Talasma entered my mind, but then why would she have to break the lock?

I heard the attempted silence of the closing door, the three or four footsteps approaching the edge of the bed, before the waiting in suspense took its toll.

Clasping the sword tightly in my hands, I rolled over and rose to a sitting position, swinging it over my head to bring it down with maximum force to the wooden floor below. It hit where my intruder had once stood, but even my unexpected attack had been no match for quick reactions and agility.

In the corner of my eye a black shape was visible - a robe I gathered, not armour. In one movement I swung the point of the sword towards them and stood up to face this person. Just being in a vulnerable position even with just body language made anyone easy prey.

I made another swift slice at them without even taking time to look at their face, but my intended injury was thwarted by another quick and elegant side-step and turn from the blow.

Though they were facing away now, I could tell they were male from their build, but he was hardly taller than me - I could somehow overpower him.

I went for an overhead attack, and brought the blade down with both hands with the same force as the first swing - which had unfortunately only severed a floorboard - aiming directly between his shoulder blades. Mid-swing, he spun around, his own sword in hand, and blocked me, although a step back told me he was surprised by the strength of attack.

I did as I'd once been taught. As he staggered mildly, I twisted my sword horizontally controlling it with a single, the point behind one handle on the hilt of his. I forced my blade swiftly to the floor, no time for him to keep hold of the weapon while still trying to hold his footing.

As the clatter of steel on wood rang around the four walls of the inn room, he backed off, now defenceless with both arms raised halfway in a surrender gesture. Still, I pointed my blade in his direction, and as he knew now, I was serious about my own safety. He wouldn't dare try anything now, but a weapon aiming at his throat just added that reassurance of making my point clear as an Elsweyr sky.

For the first time, I met his eyes. I expected them to be cold, sinister in defeat, especially if he was working with the Imperial guards. But they were soft, gentle even, and a subtle glint within the deep hazel showed intrigue.

I looked over his partly shrouded face, as the black hood he wore created a chiaroscuro effect in unison with the surrounding candlelight. He looked of Imperial race, though a distinctive face shape with high cheekbones and jawline set him apart from a handful of others I had seen, where a generic pattern was obvious.

Aside from the fact that he'd crept into my room supposedly while I slept, I'd never met him once before, and he'd attempted to turn a sword on me, I wouldn't say he was in any way bad looking. Not in a traditional sense was he handsome, but his dark olive skin, undeniably confident presence - contradicting the submissive surrender - and shining brown eyes that held my own gaze captivated.

And despite the fact that I had a sword aimed at his face, and I was still fiercely staring at him (no matter what my head was saying), he smiled. Not in a strange or predatory manner, but in a way that reminded me of a gesture of agreement in a conversation, or confirmation of a previous thought sequence. A smile that made him tilt his head forward slightly, as though nodding to himself. Blinking slowly, his dark and luring eyes moved up to meet my eyeline while his head remained bowed.

I had to remind myself who was currently in charge of this situation. This very surreal situation...

"Explain yourself," I demanded, in the best authoritarian voice I could muster after five months of hardly speaking. "Now."

This just caused his eyes to sparkle a little more. "In due time, dear child, in due time."

His voice was deep but not overpowering, smooth and absorbing yet weathered and rough. It drew me in while warning me away. The overall effect of the intense gaze combined with this was captivation, curiosity, and confusion. I couldn't be entirely angry because I didn't know exactly what to be angry with him about, except breaking into my room, of course.

"The least you owe me is a straight answer," I continued, hoping I still sounded intimidating. "For example, what are you actually doing here? Who are you?"

Despite the tone of my voice changing to condescending sarcasm, making me sound confident, something had occurred to me, which would leave me a bundle of broken nerves if it turned out to be true. Literally.

"I'm glad you ask," he replied nonchalantly, eyes not leaving mine as he slowly raised his head again. I silently scolded myself for not averting my own gaze. "I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood - "

I hated being right.

I'd read masses of books over the years, and one subject that appeared in a few was the Dark Brotherhood, a group of underground assassins, killing for whoever paid enough for a contract. They did do a lot of good, but this was overshadowed by the number of (supposedly) innocent victims who fell at the hands of the Brotherhood.

Anyone could contact them, but I had a clear idea of who might want me dead.

"Listen...Lucien, was it? I've done nothing wrong, haven't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it; I'm not worth all this trouble," I interrupted, pleading, probably speaking too fast - but I was panicking.

"If anyone deserves it, it's that Nord who got away, the one who attacked me; or the guard who dragged me off to prison in the first place. I don't know his name but - "

"I'm not here to hurt you." He didn't even have to raise the volume of his speaking voice to cut through my near manic tone, remaining completely focused on me.

"As for the Nord, he returned to Windhelm, and was assassinated the next day by a Dark Brotherhood recruit," he concluded, but I looked at him for more information. The morbid and vengeful side of me was desperate to know how.

"I can assure you that his death was as painful as you could have expected, that's certain," Lucien explained, allowing for a single flicker of bitterness to cloud his eyes for a moment. "She wanted to know why he was targeted, so she asked some questions when she arrived. Let's say she wanted him dead as much as you did by the end of interrogation."

I didn't really know how to respond to that. I didn't even know how to feel. I should be ecstatic: the toying bastard was dead. But it was strange, seeing I'd never met this...Speaker, yet he seemed to know an awful lot about me.

"How long have you been following me?" I mostly stated rather than questioned.

"Not long."

"How did you know about the Nords?"

"They were my contract," he replied, no hesitation, no break of eye contact. "I was waiting for them to move further along the Pass before attacking. Then you appeared as though out of the blizzard itself. You took them down, and I could do nothing but admire."

His head tilted again, steadily to the right this time. The orange firelight of the candles illuminated more of his face in a warm glow as a smaller smile crept back into his expression.

Also, he had lowered his still half-raised arms from the air. On doing this, I realised - with a high amount of unreality and surprise - that I'd lowered my sword arm. I looked to my right side briefly in disbelief, but there was my sword, still held as tightly as before, but I had no clue how it got there. I had no recollection of withdrawing my aim, and hadn't even realised I'd done it. That was unfathomable to say the least. I glanced back at Lucien in a strange sense of confusion, but he hadn't appeared to notice.

"You are a killer. A taker of life. A harvester of souls," he reeled poetically, taking a few steps in my direction. "Your work, your deathcraft, pleases the Night Mother. And so, I come to you with an offering. An opportunity...to join our rather unique family."

Wait...he was here to recruit me? I mean, I was utterly relieved that I wasn't one of the contracts, but...would I really be any good at that? I probably already had people looking for me, and if I was caught again...I don't know what they'd do.

"I understand your concern," Lucien observed from just my expression, his eyes just a metre from mine now. "But didn't you enjoy that feeling of making them pay?"

He must have seen the recognition in my eyes as he finished his sentence, before they dropped to the floor in acceptance of his being correct. I had enjoyed it. Revelled in the triumph I'd felt with every wound inflicted on those despicable excuses of existence.

"That's what we, the Dark Brotherhood, do," he resumed, his voice coaxing my trail of thought to continue. "Anyone believed to be so unworthy of living is often the subject of the Black Sacrament; prayers to our Unholy Matron. She passes this information on to the Listener, who in turn informs a Speaker for the Black Hand, who then delivers this contract to the necessary members of the Sanctuary they govern."

"And I'd be one of them I take it?" I interjected; surprised by the amount of confidence I'd suddenly gained. But, in all honesty, I was curious. If the targets were anywhere near as bad as the ones I'd had the misfortune to encounter, I'd be only too happily obliged to dispose of them.

"You would be, dear one. The Sanctuary in Cheydinhal, to be precise," he answered, pleased at my interest.

A half-smile gradually appeared on his face then, and his partly shadowed deep set eyes shone with what I perceived as eagerness.

"You're considering my offer, I take it?"

I didn't know. Should I? This was all a bit...sudden, and still surreal. Whatever I chose now seemed to me to be final, and I didn't want to commit myself entirely just yet, strangely tempting as it was, not after two weeks of just getting out of one controlled environment.

"Fine, I'm listening," I told the Speaker, making sure to keep my tone and words neutral, making sure I was able to refuse at any time and back out of the deal. I breathed in and looked back up into his eyes, which I predicted hadn't moved from me.

Though his eyes still showed their previous enthusiasm, his expression had allowed the authority of his position within the group to take over; in control yet not overpowering enough to ward me away.

"Then listen closely, for I will not repeat this."

The intensity of his gaze held my own locked to his. I wasn't aware of whether it was the resonating presence that did it, or whether something in my subconscious was willing me to continue in this line of events. Either way, I really was listening as closely as I could.

"On the Green Road to the North of Bravil lies the Inn of Ill Omen. There you will find a man named Rufio."

At the mention of his name, Lucien's eyes grew dark, angry, not even the candlelight able to console them. I would have asked what he'd done, but the underlying snarl in his tone made me think otherwise. Unfortunately, he never went any further than this information.

"Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete," he explained in a forced impartial tone; the resentment over some information unknown to me still influencing his expression.

Composing himself quickly, but the smile he gave genuine, he continued.

"Do this, and the next time you sleep in a location I deem secure, I will reveal myself once more, bearing the love of your new family."

I wanted to inquire further about Rufio, but my initial thoughts were based off of Lucien's reactions, which were not positive. I got the impression that this person was one of the worst for a member of the Dark Brotherhood to think so badly of him.

As for the actual proposal of killing him, I had no real evidence but this to tell me what kind of person he was. With the group of Nords, I knew first-hand what they were capable of, but I had no clue about this. I didn't even have any evidence that Lucien was all he appeared to be. For all I knew, this could be a revenge mission given to him by the survivor of the group, just to frame me for another crime. This situation was so unreal, I didn't know what to call the truth.

"How do I know you're not just sending me to the guards?" I asked defiantly, hoping to pick up whether or not he'd been lying to me for the past ten minutes.

"I don't know why you're asking me that," he answered after a pause of unfamiliarity. "It's clear that you believe me."

I figured that he'd never been questioned so directly before...and that idea confirmed his statement. I did believe him. There had been no element of falseness in his tone of voice, nor hostility in his expressions directed at me, not even subtle wishing for harm to come to me. If anything, I felt a growing sense of security in the more time he spent here. If I had sensed anything amiss, anything wrong, I could have easily slashed his throat in the blink of an eye. No one would know. But I felt no vibe of that from him, even when I'd disarmed him; he'd only been blocking my own strikes with a blade, and I'd tricked myself into thinking he'd been the first to attack, only because it had been my initial assumption. I'd been trying to protect myself so hard that I hadn't listened properly to someone trying to do the same thing. It had been a long time since anyone around me had treated me as an equal, or considered to do something nice for me. So long that I'd forgotten what it felt like.

Lucien Lachance, assassin though he was, was the first to remind me, much as I'd been attempting to resist it.

"I'll think about it," I finally decided, meeting his eyeline again, a new sense of purpose lining my voice.

The hopeful and silent pleading in Lucien's eyes disintegrated as they brightened with a mildly surprised expression. He must have thought I was schizophrenic by now. I would.

"That's good news," he replied, unable to keep a cap on his relief. "Allow me to grant you a gift, on behalf of the Dark Brotherhood. It is a virgin blade, and thirsts for blood. May it serve you well in your...endeavours."

He added this last sentence with another half-smile, as though referencing an inside joke, and held out a sheathed dagger. I hadn't expected this, but reluctantly took it with my free hand, placing the sword I still held back in my weapons belt. I examined the intricate leather binding around the small blade, wondering selfishly whether if this procedure was standard or special. I hoped for the latter option, but I wasn't going to ask either way.

"Now," Lucien started, with a slight tone of disappointment, but then I couldn't be sure of that. "I bid you farewell."

I looked up bemusedly only to watch him float past me to the door, my eyes still following him as he touched the door handle with one gloved hand.

"Wait...you're leaving?" I asked, no thought in what I was saying.

What a stupid question.

"When Rufio's soul is sent to Sithis, I will return," he replied, a bit impatient at my pathetic reaction to his attempted exit. "Only then will the Dark Brotherhood embrace you as family."

He turned to leave again, but then I remembered something.

"You're probably not going to get very far if you don't have your sword," I called after him, trying to keep the humour of this out of my voice, though I still felt the tug of a smile as I picked it up off the floor.

Lucien had frozen, then drawn back from the door as he turned back to me, repressed embarrassment and a self-scolding smile on his face. But his eyes accepted these ridiculous circumstances, in turn following this with the stifled breath of a single laugh.

"No," Lucien went on, eyes tracking me again. "No, I suppose not."

I flipped the hilt over, and in mid-air lightly caught hold of the blade end of the shortsword, satisfying the need to be back in control. Lucien raised an eyebrow as he wrapped a hand around the hilt, only pulling it back to sheathe it once he had witnessed that my hand was back by my side.

He glanced back up and faced me directly, with a new expression of contemplation.

"What's your name?" he suddenly questioned, poised in anticipation.

I was taken aback. I suppose I'd convinced myself again of something that hadn't happened; he seemed so familiar to me now that I believed he was aware of my name, just as his had been so solidly committed to my memory.

"Elenar," I answered, then awkwardly reiterated; "my name's Elenar."

"Elenar..." Lucien repeated to himself, trailing off into thought, eyes distant in his still gaze. He spoke quietly, emphasised the syllables and flow of the name as he tested it in his speech. I presumed it was because he'd already been trying to attach a name to me, seeing whether it was something he'd expected. Was it? A concluding smile of favour and eventual blink of his deep hazel eyes confirmed to me that it may have been.

"I do hope we'll meet again soon," he replied charmingly, pausing before his gaze intensified; "Elenar."

His soft and gentle tone haunted me as he turned once more, opened the door and - literally - disappeared using a Chameleon spell, the door sweeping gradually back into its frame while I stared ahead, mind still reeling from one of the strangest evenings I'd ever been fortunate enough to experience.

I'd tried to sleep. I'd tried to close my eyes and relax, but for once, fact was stranger than fiction.

Three hours I approximated I'd been awake, just replaying the entire meeting in my mind. Only then did I realise how entranced I'd acted, though not simply because the offer of joining the Dark Brotherhood interested me. Quite a lot.

From the second I'd started talking to him, Lucien Lachance had successfully flirted his way through the entire conversation, from facial expressions, eye movements and even choice of tone and words. Though he hadn't needed to do this - simple persuasion and explanation would have done its job perfectly well - he'd attempted to draw me in, although not surprisingly having to use this technique at first to prevent me from slicing him to pieces. But the continual intensity of every look, glance and gaze had been carefully constructed to send every emotion in me into a frenzy, nailing me to the spot as his honeyed voice sank in, every word registered clearly in my mind. He'd tried to charm yet seriously inform, hoping for every detail he explained to echo over and over in the back of my memory until I considered accepting. Problem was, it had worked. I was doing that very thing right now. I was quite disappointed in myself.

Attempted seduction aside, what Lucien had told me made sense. Too much sense for me to dismiss it. I'd already known what the Dark Brotherhood did, how they operated, who they targeted: the unworthy.

My memory wandered backwards, back to the raid. I'd watched everything my family and I had worked for get destroyed and robbed by five people of this description. They'd taken everything and everyone from me that I held dear, including my once cherished memories. Now, when I tried to think of any time before then, I was immediately transported again to the very memory I was working to avoid with every living breath left in me.

It started up from where I first knew there was something wrong: there was a bang from downstairs, screaming, commands in Nordic accents, more shouts, the metallic scent of blood and steel forming as I rushed to the floor below. I had no time to see who was hurt before one intruder spotted me, aiming an arrow in my direction. I darted back upstairs to find the sword I'd been bought for a birthday seven years ago, never used in real combat, but didn't get that far. He grabbed my arm; stalling me and making my footing give way, the searing pain as his nails still scraped at my skin before I hit the floor. Crawling away was of no use against him. He turned me over with one hand, clutching the just inflicted scratches to immobilise me, both wrists then pinned down as I lay petrified staring up into cold emotionless blue eyes...

As intensively trained to do so for the past five months, the remaining time between then and watching them enter the Pass had repressed itself into a very dark, very far away corner of my mind, and I hoped I'd never have to willingly venture over there again.

Remembering where this had spanned from, and what I had been willing to do to retaliate, Lucien's question echoed through me again:

_"But didn't you enjoy that feeling of making them pay?"_

Of course I had. How couldn't I?

_"That's what we, the Dark Brotherhood, do..."_

If that's what I could do, if these people could simply be requested by someone to be disposed of, I wanted in.

_"You're considering my offer I take it?"_

The same rage I'd seen flicker through Lucien's eyes flooded through me. If this man Rufio had done anything near as something this evil, of course I was considering it. I had been considering it since the question was first put forward to me, though not as clear in my mind as now.

My attention turned to the still sheathed dagger he awarded me, resting untouched on the inn's bedside table. I rolled over to the right and sat up on the edge of the mattress, reaching over to it. I found the hilt with one hand, and the sheathe was cocooned by the other.

Pulling it out, I was highly surprised to see it wasn't a traditional iron or steel weapon, but instead black as a weapon forged in Ebonheart, the blade's edges encrusted with a gold design and border, extending to the gold hilt in the palm of my hand. It was small, but by Azura it could be deadly. It was also rather beautiful, in its own way.

I carefully sheathed it again, rewrapping the leather binding around the top where my less than gentle draw had loosened it, then placed it down on the side-table again.

I suddenly felt a resolve, a solution of revenge and a new life in doing so had been opened to me.

_"An opportunity...to join our rather unique family."_

Pieces once shattered were beginning at long last to repair themselves; not completely, never would all the shards be found, but it was enough welding back together for me to function again.

I wanted this. I almost needed this. Somehow, everything was confirming this as the right decision to make. I had nothing now, so I had nothing to lose if it didn't turn out the way I'd wanted.

_"Kill him, and your initiation into the Dark Brotherhood will be complete..."_

"Rufio will die by my hand," I answered silently, as though communicating with Lucien's recurring voice in my mind.

Never once did I believe such a sweetly sadistic thought would also be the one conclusion before finally being able to drift off into a peaceful, and at long last, dreamless sleep, the knowledge that my new life would begin tomorrow the only thought still with me at the present time.

From what I remembered of genuine happiness, this was the closest I had got so far.


	3. Ch 3: An Assassin Among Assassins

**Chapter 3 **

**An Assassin Among Assassins**

_8 Months Later:_

Ungolim lay dead at the foot of his beloved statue. The Bosmer had been a good match, swiftly fired arrows barely missing me as I dodged them by diving to the ground or into the surrounding alleyways around Bravil's main square. There was enough room for me to fit, but still able to manoeuvre with a weapon - or an array of them in my case - while the criss-crossing beams of house support in the same narrow space deflected the arrows' impact.

Although, out of all the orders I'd received as Silencer in the past three months, this had at least been one of the easiest. Ungolim's choice of weapon was heavily limited to long range bow attacks, while I was able to wield anything at my disposal. Eventually I had beat him at his own game; I'd taken aim with the elven dagger, Sufferthorn from a wooden platform just above him, waited for him to reach for an arrow, and in a split second reaction, let the dagger fly, looking on as it pierced the hollow of his throat. He'd staggered back, struggling for breath as black blood surfaced from the wound. The more he fought for air, the more he choked and spluttered on the blood. His eyes became glazed and still as he eventually fell back and met the ground with heavy impact.

I retrieved the dagger and wiped it clean with the same cloth I'd been carrying since my first contract with the Dark Brotherhood, when I'd picked it up from the pirate's captain's cabin, then sheathed it back in place.

Immediately I backed off and turned towards the main city gate, keeping a close watch on any passing civilians on other roads, hoping they hadn't witnessed everything. I didn't want a shred of attention. I just wanted to get out of this damp and claustrophobic city. No wonder not many people lived here.

Suddenly I halted, blood chilling until it iced over in my veins, a wave of once familiar paranoia crashing over me as I gradually froze to the place I stood, no chance I could see of thawing. This feeling did not surprise me, as I always felt as though I had been followed after completing a contract: best safety lies in fear, right? But this was not normal, and the subconscious reaction that surfaced was far too extreme to simply be anxiety.

I thought of the possibility that Ungolim had propped himself up, not as fatally injured as I'd previously suspected. But that was being ridiculously paranoid: I'd easily confirmed that he was, in fact, dead.

But there were footsteps behind me. Fast footsteps. I tried to think of who it could be before I made any move to repel them, but I didn't have to question myself for long.

"No!" an unmistakable voice snarled from a few feet behind me, the initial jolt that convulsed through me at the break in silence making me spin abruptly to face him.

Lucien was storming towards me, hostility painted over his usually pleasant features. He appeared, even from this distance, to be significantly paler, thinner compared to the last time I'd seen him, when I received my first dead drop order's location. His eyes were darting around a little as though he was expecting to be ambushed at any given second.

"No, I'm too late!" he resumed, voice wild with anger. "I thought I could get here in time, thought I could stop you!"

What? What was he talking about? He'd sent me here hadn't he?

"Lucien - " I began as he reached speaking distance, ready to question him.

But I never got the rest out. I hadn't even half addressed him before he seized the collar of dark purple material below my throat, catching me by paralysing surprise as he pinned me against a wall. The force of his arm restricted my breathing, but I'd managed to grab hold of it before my collarbone had been crushed. That I had prevented at least.

"By Sithis, what have you done? What _madness_ has claimed you?" Lucien almost shouted; the gritty contempt in his voice held the volume back, but his ferocious eyes said it all.

I couldn't answer. I could hardly breathe, and all of the strength in me was being put into struggling against the weight holding me back.

"You have betrayed me," he continued, a subtle tone of hurt present in his speech; "you have betrayed the Dark Brotherhood. Why?"

I attempted to communicate silently with a look, but he'd hardly met my eyeline for more than a couple of seconds, even when he was little more than a few centimetres from me. A mix of paranoia, fear and burning anger had glazed over them. No warmth, no deep intensity that I had grown so used to when he spoke to me: something was seriously wrong, though I had gathered that before, obviously; I'd never seen him as anything but in control, though now he seemed to be heavily oppressed.

There was no way I could have betrayed anyone. I'd followed every order to the letter. _His_ orders. Why would he accuse me of anything so extreme? But silent pleading was the only thing I could do now.

"I am here to end your miserable life, to..."

His ferocity suddenly trailed away as he paused mid-sentence, dark brown eyes settling on mine. His tense features and expression softened, the familiar glint of depth rekindling in his intense stare. He scanned over my face once before returning his gaze.

"But...I see the confusion in your eyes," he very near stammered, realisation flooding through his mind. "You...you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Abruptly, he let go of me and stepped back, remorse and apology in his face. I lost stability in my legs and almost fell forward, gasping and coughing with the welcoming intake of air. Instinctively, my hand covered the place where he'd grabbed hold of me, as though protecting it further.

As my breath steadied, I straightened up and leant back against the wall, Lucien still and motionless as he watched me recover.

"I'm sorry. I..." he murmured, but I wasn't bothered about excuses.

"Just tell me what's going on, Lucien," I demanded impatiently, still confused about his accusations. "What did you mean by 'betrayal'? As far as I know, I've done nothing you didn't ask me to."

He gazed in empathy back at me, and I could sense one of his speeches coming on.

"Your first dead drop contract, you carried that out, killed Celedaen," he explained, eyes beginning to adopt their manic search for an attacker again while his voice remained rushed. "After that you eliminated the Draconis family, as ordered. Then, betrayal."

I was about to ask exactly how, but he continued before I had the chance.

"Your dead drops went unvisited, your targets ignored. Instead you have been systematically killing off all the members of the Black Hand."

He breathed in, then began to reel off their names; he knew them so well.

"J'Ghasta, Shaleez, Alval Uvani, Havilstein Hoar-Blood - Speakers and Silencers all," Lucien went on, then concluded in regret; "And Ungolim - the Listener himself."

I felt like sinking into the ground and allowing it to close up around me. How did this happen? Why couldn't he stop me earlier? By Sithis, this was too much. If the rest of the Black Hand thought I'd betrayed them...I was fully aware of what the Dark Brotherhood did to traitors. I'd had to carry out the Purification in Cheydinhal because of one suspected betrayer. There was no mercy in decisions, no time for anyone to plead their innocence. If I had only known...

I'd been holding my breath for far longer than I thought, too busy focusing on the panicked thoughts that flashed before my eyes. When I did breathe in again, I found my throat had tightened, causing every attempt at staying calm to fail. I was shaking now, my breath coming out in quivers.

"They'll kill me," I muttered in fear to myself. "They're going to kill me."

"Elenar - "

"But they will, Lucien!" I snapped unnecessarily, my arms wrapped around myself now, blood frozen solid. "You know they will. Not even you stopped to ask questions - "

"Elenar," he cut me off sternly, trying to stop my manic outburst. "The surviving members of the Black hand know that you're innocent. They know you were only following orders. They believe I am the traitor."

Despite the relief that one part of me felt, the panic didn't leave, it only changed form. A protective instinct in me was unchained - that one moment of fear in me was just a small fraction of he must have been feeling for, well, months.

I held his gaze, watching every emotion fly through his eyes as the hard realisation punched me in the face, so hard that the effects of concussion took hold: headache, dizziness, nausea.

The paleness, paranoia, constant searching for a tracker - why hadn't I thought before assuming. He should be the scared one, not me.

"How did this happen?" I asked, my voice slowing as the amount of information I'd taken in overpowered me. "Any ideas?"

"Don't you see?" he questioned in reply. I answered with a blank expression.

"The traitor somehow switched your orders, and has been sending you to the wrong dead drops," Lucien continued to explain. "You and I have been deceived."

I tried to think back before I inquired about a plan of action, which I was certain he'd already come up with, wanting to remember anything that pointed me to someone, but there was no condemning proof of identity, only the significance of the actual written orders.

At first I'd thought it was strange, how suddenly Lucien's handwriting had deteriorated by the third note, when the first two were so neat and precise. Even the almost polite manner by which he described the targets had changed. The latest was insulting and far too blunt to be his own orders.

And I'd never questioned any of it. Why didn't I? Even when one tiny spark in my mind told me something was amiss, I'd ignored it because I was too eager to carry it out. By wanting to make Lucien proud of my efforts, and not thinking twice about a bad possibility, I'd failed him. I'd failed all of us.

"What should we do?"

His eyes brightened as his subdued expression lifted, a slight smile at my cooperation the closest he'd come to registering in my eyes as familiar. Familiar was good. Familiar I liked.

"We must find out who is behind this betrayal, but we haven't much time...I am hunted day and night by the Black Hand."

He trailed off for a moment, eyes dropping to the floor as though something had dawned on him. Something he'd not taken the time to accept until he actually uttered it.

"They want me dead."

He continued immediately, attempting to push it out of his dwelling mind while I still listened intently to my orders. My _real_ orders.

"Here is what you must do: go now to your next dead drop, lie in wait and confront whomever drops off the false contract," he told me, easing back into being in control perfectly. "Uncover the true traitor's identity, then come see me. I'll be in hiding; Fort Farragut is no longer secure. It's under watch by the Black Hand."

His face stalled in contemplation for a fleeting moment before fixing his eyes back on mine.

"I'll wait for you at Applewatch, the farm where you killed the old Draconis woman. It should be empty, and safe," he decided, but his tone didn't convince me that he was sure of that. For once he was helpless. "Learn the identity of the betrayer and restore the authority of the Black Hand."

I was still taking all this in, waiting patiently to accept the information as true. I glanced grievously back at Ungolim's body, at the fatal wound I'd inflicted on him that still gaped on his throat. I'd been the one to destroy the rest of them, one by one, no remorse, no questions asked. I'd been the flame that made its way along the fuse that would cause the implosion of the Family.

Why did I have to be the strong one now? After what Lucien had revealed, I at least needed time to think on it.

"I'm placing my trust in you, Elenar," he assured me sincerely as I turned back to him, tears beginning to well up in my eyes, stinging all the more as I fought them back. "Whoever they are, they've used you, deceived your ambition, framed you against your will. I won't pretend to know how you feel about this, but it infuriates me."

I let out a nervous laugh.

"Not five minutes ago you were 'infuriated' enough to have killed me where I stood."

"I didn't know it wasn't of your own accord then," he replied, sighing in frustration before pausing, looking to the floor and closing his eyes. "I don't want anyone treating you like a puppet. You should be as glad as I will be when the traitor lies dead, and so ending this madness."

Everything he said was right: I had been used, strung along as the traitor gained ever more power over me. Controlled me as though I was an emotionless object...and then I realised what nerve Lucien had hit. It dawned on me that I had been hurt just the same, if not physically then mentally and psychologically. Annoyed as I was at the subject being brought up, I'd made my decision.

"I'll see you at Applewatch," I stated, raising my head to its normal level as I spoke.

Lucien was unable to hold back his relief at this, face breaking at long last into a smile, contradicting the still mad look in his eyes.

"May Sithis keep you safe, Silencer," he concluded softly, taking one last deep look at me before activating his Chameleon spell, the gradually fading footsteps the only thing that confirmed to me that he was gone.

* * *

I rode towards Anvil in a daze, mind racing as fast as a strike of lightning making impact with the earth. Luckily, Shadowmere had an idea of where we were going, her hooves continuing to pound from the Green Road to the Gold Road that ended at Anvil.

How hadn't I known? I'd been asking myself this for the past few miles with no explanation. How could every target be that skilled in combat? The guards had been paid off by the traitor not to intervene with anything associated with any of the dead Black hand members - no wonder they had been prepared for trouble.

By Sithis, what had I done?

The journey was a blur of jumbled thoughts weaving in and out of each other as I replayed everything over and over again in my mind, from the first dead drop contract to Lucien's confrontation in Bravil. Regret was the main emotion that I felt; regret that I'd not worked from my own suspicion, regret that I'd been so stupid not to find and question Lucien myself about the letters, regret that he was now in danger because of me.

My head cleared out of all other thoughts when I came to this. For all the time I'd known Lucien he'd done nothing but protect me, build my confidence up again and respect me as an individual member of the Brotherhood. He deserved my help now, repayment for everything he'd ever done for me, and for the whole Family.

That was why I had to be strong. I was the protector now, and there was no way that I was going to willingly disappoint him again. I wouldn't fail him or the Dark Brotherhood.

For the sins of the unworthy must be baptised in blood and fear.

* * *

After forty five minutes of waiting, getting a few strange looks from residents who were not used to someone closely watching a single barrel for so long, I saw them.

It was a wood elf, about half my height and unarmed, striding quickly towards the dead drop's location, a folded piece of parchment clutched piously with both hands in front of him. Now and then he stopped to inspect the slightest sound, each time convulsing in a quivering wave as though he was expecting someone to follow. Poor pipsqueak had no idea that I was already here then.

When I'd finally arrived in Anvil it was very late afternoon, the sun simply hovering above the horizon, ready to fall when evening closed in. The statue and small lake mentioned in the order were the first things I sighted, then the barrel at the edge of the city wall as I drew closer. I'd checked inside first - nothing. I wasn't too late. I couldn't imagine the consequences if I had been.

I took my place in hiding to the right of the ivory statue, but only hidden from one view. I just hoped the delivery wasn't arriving from that side.

Seeing as I had no idea who it was, my sight had fixed on anyone who came near, but only caused suspicion of myself in their eyes. As time dragged on, my anger began to reach the surface: after controlling me like some kind of rag doll in their hand-crafted puppet show, the bastard should have at least had the decency to show up when I expected them to. And later, on the off chance that I'd decided to check the green along the lake, there he was.

The Bosmer eventually reached the barrel, letter in hand. Swiftly, he lifted the lid and dropped it in, a sigh of relief resonating from him as the lid was replaced. Before then, I'd already started edging out of my hiding place, treading carefully up to him as he deposited the orders.

I went to grab his shoulder, to forcefully turn him around, but I'd hardly touched him before he reacted...very unexpectedly reacted.

He squealed in a high-pitched tone, springing away from me as the back of his head hit the wall behind him. _This_ was the traitor? _This_ was the one who was threatening the Brotherhood with extinction? _This_ whelp? It didn't make sense, I thought, watching him as he shook and cowered away, trying to slip through a non-existent doorway in the bricks he pressed himself up against. I'd learnt not to trust appearances though, so took two steps forward, about to threaten him with a sword to his throat - that usually did the trick.

"I'm...I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do anything wrong!" he whimpered, nerves causing him to babble as he tripped over the simplest of words.

I stopped, but still glared down at the crouching figure. If he was genuinely scared it was understandable, but based on the submission of his tone, he could be just as much a puppet as I was.

"It was the robed man!" he continued. "He...he paid me to put those things in the barrel - "

"Shut up," I commanded, frustrated. "Who told you to do this?"

"I don't know his name, and his face was in shadow," he replied, panicked and fearful. "He called to me yesterday as I walked by the lighthouse - I think he lives there!"

He was trying to get rid of me, and avoiding details wasn't the best way to go about it. He looked light, so I made a split second decision to lift him up by the front of his shirt, knowing full well how effective that could be. He trembled as I forced him up against the stonework, whining in discomfort, though made no attempt to fight back at all.

"Don't cross me, Bosmer," I threatened, supporting this with a steely gaze. "And if I find you've not told me everything, you'll be even more sorry. So, does the robed man live at the lighthouse or doesn't he?"

The wood elf gulped as his eyes inflated with dread, his facial expression that of a timid dog that wants its master to assure it of safety.

"Well...at least he did," he confessed in between racing breaths, almost on the verge of tears. "He told me he was leaving Anvil. I'm sorry, but that's all I know!"

"First, tell me about this lighthouse," I interrogated further, taking advantage of his willingness to give me information now.

"It's just outside the city walls," he blurted out without any pause. "I think the robed man has lived there for quite some time."

His face paled and his eyes froze in place.

"In...in the cellar. I don't know what goes on down there, but there's a horrible smell coming from underneath that door. It's like...something died inside!"

That was every piece of information I needed. I knew where the traitor was, or had been, and how he had managed not to get caught before now. But if he was gone...did he know that I'd be coming for him? I'd have to be careful when getting in there.

"That's all I know, really," the wood elf wheezed as I realised I'd increased the force of my grip. "Maybe Ulfgar Fog-Eye can tell you more, he's the lighthouse keeper, and probably rented out the cellar. He's sure to have the key...you know, if you wanted to get down there. Now please, just let me go!"

There was no threat I felt from him now, nor did I believe he'd run away and tell anybody he met what just took place. So, I released my hold on him and stepped away. The Bosmer collapsed in a heap and buried his face in his hands, sobbing a little - this was a new experience; I'd never allowed enough time to watch my targets cry before.

Sniffling, he gazed up at me with glassy eyes. "I can...leave?"

"Yes," I answered, disbelief in both of our voices. "Get going and, um...thank you."

I only thought it was right.

Without hesitation, he scrambled jerkily to his feet and scampered away back to the town. I watched as he disappeared behind the door of a shop where he probably worked, recognising only too well what fear and oppression he must have felt. Although, it had been entirely necessary of me to question with caution and self-protection in my mind: if he had indeed been the betrayer, he would no doubt be able to defend himself against the very group he was trying to eradicate.

The Bosmer had been impressionable, submissive, alone; an easy target of corruption. What I'd learned was that the real traitor preferred to stay hidden away from the world, choosing people whom he could simply influence to carry out his work. He wouldn't have gone far, not when nobody knew his location anyway. Nobody except me.

The sky was growing darker, the brightness of the day now giving way to nightfall, and with this, I made my way down to the docks, the smell of sea air guiding me in the lighthouse's direction. I knew the truth of this would not be a good revelation, but at the very least, it would tell us who was behind this and why.

* * *

I barged through the first door leading to the second flight of spiral stone stairs, the second flight of what felt like the longest minute of my life. All I needed to do was to talk to the lighthouse keeper, get the key, and get to the cellar below. The only thing in my way was a flight of bloody stairs. Why couldn't the lighthouse be just a bit shorter?

My frustration was building, an excess amount of anger adding to the already existing opinion of the traitor. If he believed someone would come for him, this was the best defence he had against them.

At long last, I found the ladder to the peak of the building. I could only wager that Ulfgar was there, as he wasn't in the living quarters downstairs.

I pushed up through the trapdoor, and was greeted by a strong gust of salty air and a burst of heat from the beacon of fire in the centre of the platform; a contradiction of sensations.

Upon hearing somebody arrive, a grey haired man with a weathered face and friendly demeanour approached, but I didn't have a shred of time for pleasantries.

"Hello ash-born," he greeted, if not a little puzzled at my being here. Unfortunately I couldn't help but flinch when he addressed me by that name - it was one of my pet-hates about being so obviously from a specific race, and that was my most despised title.

"What might you want?"

I was still out of breath from climbing the lighthouse, as well as overflowing with information from both Lucien and the wood elf I ambushed - I couldn't listen to any more today.

"The key to the cellar!" I commanded. "Now!"

Ulfgar was taken aback by my sudden burst of dominance, and dropped his guard completely.

"What? What's the meaning of this? What's going on here?" he questioned, confused at first, but something came over his face as though he knew exactly why I was here. "I don't want no trouble! Here, take the damn key!"

While speaking, he unhooked as single rusty key from a chain around his neck and placed it in my just outstretched hand, turning away quickly and facing back out to the rippling surface of the water's horizon line, refusing to take the subject further.

I briefly considered asking about his reaction, but I was sure it would become clear when I opened that cellar door.

Without response I lifted the trapdoor again, jumping rather than stepping down the opening, deciding to also try to sprint down the stairs. I continued to stumble down to the first door; I was so full of nerves.

By the time I reached the outside again, darkness had engulfed the sky, but the stars and twin moons were help enough to still light the ground and building up.

I looked around, but saw no sign of a cellar door at the front of the lighthouse. I scoured round it, and came to a jutted rectangle of stone on the side of the larger structure, a door installed at the side of it.

The Bosmer was right about the strange smell. It wafted from the gap between the wooden door and the paved step below it, although mostly overpowered by the breeze that blew over from the open ocean to the west. But the scent of decay could not be denied. Whoever this man was, he already seemed dangerous, received reactions or not. He was not to be taken lightly.

I only prayed that he wasn't in there as I turned the key I still clung to tightly in the old worn lock.

It clicked in submission, and I pushed the door open, its age causing it to creak, and the old iron hinges to screech in friction with each other. Hardly helpful to the method of stealth.

I drew my sword, quietly as I could manage, ready to attack anything and anyone that lurked down here, although the putrefying smell that the wood elf had mentioned made me doubt that the traitor was keeping any allies with him. It was the unmistakable stench of rot, the metallic scent of both dried and fresh blood accompanying this as I passed over the threshold, the door slammed shut by the power of the arriving storm behind me. Now that there was no mask of fresh air over this, it became far too strong, too much of a shock to me that there could be such an overwhelming scent of death in one place.

Fighting back the instinctive reflex of heaving, though the muscles in my throat protested now and then, I continued down the uneven stairs to the cellar floor, keeping cautious and silent with every step, the heavy air of dread already present in the space.

The buzzing drone of flies that had been attracted by the detestable and brutal killings - predicted when I saw briefly at the foot of the stairs what remained of a dog - began to increase in volume. It only added to my nerves, and used as I was to death and injury, the vivid imagination of what was around the corner sickened me. This was not a man who cared about being quiet, nor was he subtle about what he did. Rather, he liked to view his work as close to him as possible - in this case, it was his place of residence - proud of his accomplishments, but ruthless in the method. Stealth and silence were not his strong suit, and that struck fear into me as though I'd been seared with a burning flame: he did not care what people, victims or witnesses, thought. He didn't care what injuries he inflicted on them, making him too much of a domineering character for my liking. It was the same attitude I'd witnessed from the prison guards in the Imperial City; just their arrogant and threatening aura telling us they were on their way.

But I didn't sense any living presence like this here - not yet anyway.

A few trembling and panicked breaths later, I forced myself to move from the security of the wall that blocked the main cellar from my sight. I stood straight and rigid as I jumped out from my hiding place, pointing the sword in front of me with both hands on the hilt. But there was no one there, not even through the gaps in the stacked towers of wooden crates strewn about the room. No one living, at least.

It looked as though I'd walked into a torture chamber, but technically, that's all it was. Directly in front of me was the torn corpse of an indiscernible animal, split open in front of a set of kegs. Around this space were wide pools of blood, scarlet and glistening like spilt wine in the blazing light of the mounted torches on the walls and various candles alight on two small tables on opposite sides of the room.

As well as barrels, there was also a large-scale bottle rack, almost every section occupied with a bottle. I had no reason in my head as to why someone like this would possibly need so many wine bottles in a place like this, where such other things took place. There was no point questioning it anyway.

What I would question were the places the bodies of his victims had been thrown aside: a woman, the whole right side of her torso practically torn away, was lying on the top of an empty shelf stack; the arms which hung limp over the edge had had almost all layers of skin and muscle sliced away with what looked like it could have a blunt blade. It had been a slow and painful torture.

Sidling forward, attempting to avoid the puddles of blood that had near flooded the floor, I found more carnage.

Another, a man this time, was on the floor directly in my path. He had a twisted wound at the base of his spine, which I worked out was the cause of his fall forwards. A pool of crimson around his head and neck told me that his attacker had then stabbed through his throat, bleeding him out slowly as he had not hit the jugular. He died probably looking paralysed at the sight of an open coffin, a once in tact body hanging loosely out of it; the main source of the congregating group of flies in the furthest and darkest corner of the room; the other group flitted around a table by the opposite wall, torture and embalming tools still caked in dried blood together in an open case.

All of us in the Dark Brotherhood wouldn't be where we were if we weren't merciless in our actions, but this...an not just on people, the real wrong-doers in this world...this didn't tell me that this was a person who would think twice before deciding to rip me to shred if I got in his way.

This was, and never could be a choice of life that any of us would take. This was killing for the sake of boredom and exercise of power, not contract completion. The very fact that it was possible for this traitor to simply call people over to him as he had done with the wood elf, and for them to obey, to unwillingly make their way over to their own demise...that kind of dominance continued to chill me to the bone, even when I myself had to adopt this mindset to assure my survival every day. But this...this was unnecessary death, an unneeded amount of bloodshed, and an excess level of pain still in the air during that process. I'd never met him, or at least, I didn't think I had, but he was already terrifying me.

Gulping back another sickly sensation in my throat, I came to a single door, shut firmly and locked, as I found out when trying to turn the metal handle. There had been nothing so far as to suggest the traitor's identity, so this was my only option: to get through this final barrier between me and the restoration of the Brotherhood's authority, and I was not wasting essential lockpicks for _his_ sake.

I placed my shoulder to the wood, my other hand around the handle as I prepared to force it open. I took a deep breath before pushing hard against it once, with no successful results. After a few more tries, my force increasing each time, the old and rusty frame finally gave way. I very nearly fell through the doorway as it burst open, squeakily swinging stiffly on its hinges into the small and dimly lit room.

Before I could look around, there was a deep growl from the far side of the room, but I couldn't see exactly where it was coming from due to the shrouded darkness of the corner that was blocked from the light source to the right of my peripheral vision. I slowly raised the sword to the noise source, not averting my gaze as I braced myself to strike whatever came towards me. Although, when it jumped out of the shadows, I couldn't.

The growl belonged to a dog, half-crazed with a strange rage in its eyes. I didn't get a good look at it, just dodged its pouncing attack to the other side of the open door as it skidded past. Swiftly, I shut the door before it could it could turn and snap again, clicking it into place in the door frame even when the lock was broken. Still, the dog could hardly open it with its paws.

It scratched and barked threateningly at the door, but eventually it calmed down, working out that there was no chance of reaching me through as solid structure. Its aggression melded into whining with frustration, but at last fell silent again.

What could possess anyone to treat something so innocent so cruelly?

I backed away in two steps from the door before replacing the sword in its sheathe, taking a moment before glancing around the rest of my surroundings. The stench had not calmed since I closed the door. As a matter of fact, it had gotten worse.

I faced towards the only light source in the room, acknowledging that it was candlelight again, based on the way it flickered and shook on the stone walls. There were a mass of them, grouped together in a half-circle on the back of a single table. But what they stood around, what they drew attention to, I had not believed my own eyes of seeing at first.

The centrepiece of the table, sitting on a blue and yellow circular tablecloth, was a severed head. Its features were decaying, what was left of the skin had been discolouring for a much longer time than any of the victims in the other room, and its eyes had lost every recognisable sign of life, now sunken and hardly fitting in the eye sockets of shrivelled muscle.

My hand automatically clapped over my mouth, partly in shock, and partly because the overwhelming smell was far too strong for my endurance limit.

Across from the table, I saw a single solitary chair, positioned so that it was directly in front of the head, so that whoever sat there would directly meet those glazed eyes.

As I looked at the chair, my eyes were then drawn by the quivering candlelight to another table, small and subtle adjacent to the chair. On top of this lay a thickly paged book, the front cover bound in blue leather, parchment inside it uneven and creased at the edges. I could only guess it was handwritten, a journal...by Sithis, I had it.

I dropped to my knees in relief beside the table, a release of breath escaping from my mouth as I grabbed it and pulled it to me, my grasp tighter than a hangman's noose. I wasn't letting this go, but still, it could be nothing; I could be clasping the journal of a madman, nothing but scribbles and crazed ramblings.

With a sense of piercing fear, anticipation and contempt, I opened the journal to the first written page, and began to read:

_It's alright mother. It's almost over. I'm close. So very close. How long have we struggled? How long have we waited? Too long. I know. But it's almost over. I promise._

I glanced back up to the head in realisation. So this was 'mother', was it? Was she his reasoning for trying to annihilate us?

The handwriting, scrawled but easy enough to decipher, was already familiar to me. Yes, this was him. This was the one switching my orders. This was the deteriorated script from a deteriorated mind. It was written in bright red, but whether it was blood or ink was unclear...

I continued to the second page:

_Kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him..._

The phrase filled the entire page, the letters merging into one wavering line as the manic movement of his writing hand had increased, as well as the pressure on the page. This was not just the group as a target - this was a revenge mission, though against whom I still had to find out.

mommy mommy as you lie the dark man comes and makes you die my daddy's hands are red with guilt because he killed the life we built.

It seemed to be quite manic rambling, thoughts put down on paper as each emotion filled his less than sane head.

_How long do I have to live by their rules? How long before I get my chance?_

He was a member of the Dark Brotherhood? Ironic and extremely contradicting, but understandable all the same: infiltrate and destroy from the inside out had been his plan all along.

At first his writings were simply hate related, asking questions of himself, doubting his decisions, until I finally saw a name I recognised within this jumble of self-criticism:

_I saw Lucien Lachance yesterday. He was in the Sanctuary talking with Ocheeva. He was right there! So close I could have severed his spine in less than a heartbeat..._

My mind flashed back to the man outside this room, the deep and paralysing wound to his back...were these people just punch bags because he wanted Lucien dead?

My unchained protectiveness surfaced again at the traitor's very use of Lucien's name. I'd never really met the Black Hand members, never travelled to the other Sanctuaries, had already taken all my possessions from Cheydinhal, as there was no Family there any more.

To me, in my world, it felt as though we were the only two Brotherhood members after I'd become Silencer, and he'd always protected me. It seemed...wrong somehow, for someone else to know of him; someone I didn't know wanting to hurt him. I felt as though my loyalty was truly laid with him, above anyone else.

_What's so sickeningly ironic is that it was the Dark Brotherhood's discipline that allowed me to restrain myself. I've been part of their 'family' for so long that it's part of me, whether I like it or not. And in that time I've fooled them all. They see me as a fellow member of the Brotherhood, a trusted family member. Some day soon I will learn the truth about the Night Mother, and when I do, I will use that trust to get close to her. Close enough so that I may rend the head from her body. Just as Lucien Lachance did to you so very long ago!_

That explained the shrine to a head then.

I had a surprising non-biased show of thought: I had got in to the Dark Brotherhood through an act of revenge, so some of this emotion I was able to relate to. To him, it would have seemed like unprovoked murder, nothing to support it with.

But then I'd witnessed what he was capable of, although Lucien could be, if he chose to. That was the main difference: Lucien took lives in honour of Sithis, as did I, but this traitor never truly followed the Tenets, nor did he respect or serve the Night Mother. He brutally killed people out of sick satisfaction, yet must have felt nothing from it. He didn't have his real targets, only substitutes.

The next few pages confirmed that he had been the one to start killing off the other Family members prior to my arrival. He spoke of a girl called Maria, whom he was in love with, but slaughtered when she refused to betray the Brotherhood, and more importantly to him, when she had insulted the idea of his mother's place in his life:

_Why couldn't she realise that her 'family' didn't really love her? She was a murderer like the rest of us. Paid to kill in the name of Sithis. I really thought we could be together. make a real family, with real love. But she told me she could never accept your place in my life. So now she's gone..._

Another page was a few lines of scrawl, the only word I was able to make out being 'kill', so I assumed more lovely verses aimed at destroying the Dark Brotherhood.

The two following pages, in which he talked about killing a ship's crew, were not important to me. I simply scanned down for a few key words. A page later, I was back on track:

_Lucien Lachance paid a visit to the Sanctuary today, to talk with me! He told me the Black Hand needed my services. One of the other Speakers is looking to replace his assistant, who was killed fulfilling a contract. So Lucien Lachance suggested me!_

The bastard was right under everyone's nose, in Cheydinhal no less! He'd been getting away with tricking us all for so long that even Lucien had fallen for it.

Wait...Lucien knew him. Lucien had personally recommended him as a Silencer to the Black Hand. If I showed him this, he'd be able to tell me straight away who this was. Only...nobody knew where he was, so I decided to read on, if only for any clues.

There turned out to be nothing along these lines, as the rest was morbid, vivid, and too ambiguous for me to find any solution for prevention:

_Lachance might as well have given me a contract to kill the Night Mother herself! I am now one step closer to realising our dream. I will learn the Night Mother's identity and tear the heart from her chest. Oh yes, and I have something special planned for Lachance himself..._

I doubted he'd be able to get to the Night Mother easily, seeing not even I had an idea of where she was, but Lucien...that was a major possibility with the way he'd been acting. You could be the most unnoticed person in all of Tamriel, yet one change of routine would suddenly turn people's attention, and that was the risk he was running with his currently skittish and nervous way of going about things.

I continued to read intensively now, fearing for his life as well as my own - if he was after Lucien, who was to say he wouldn't try to get to him through me?

_father prayed and guess who came the hooded man in Sithis' name who left but then he came once more to pass through window wall and door I lie in fear my mouth agape as wicked blade did cleave your nape for I was watching 'neath the bed to see the falling of your head and when your face lie on the floor our loving eyes did meet once more and so I pledged the day the Brotherhood would dearly pay and just as they took me from you I'd find and kill their mother too but there's one place I need to start and that's with father's beating heart and when that's done I'll sing and dance to celebrate a dead LaChance._

Clearly this man was heavily biased in his opinion, seeing she wouldn't be killed without a good reason, or so I hoped.

But, just in this poem - unpunctuated and sadistic as it was - I had his plan, I had the origin of his revenge. If it came to it, I had ammunition if he needed to be stopped at any point when confronted.

_Killing that fool Blanchard was the worst mistake I've made so far. I was seen! I was cloaked and hooded, and escaped into shadow, so no one knew my true identity. But now the Black Hand is suspicious. They suspect treachery, suspect a traitor! I must be more cautious than ever._

So he was the one in the rumours, Ocheeva's 'assassin among assassins'. He didn't want to get found out himself, so found a way to use anyone else to do his bidding. I assumed the traitor was also the reason for the death of Lucien's last silencer, and my arrival was just perfect timing for him.

But Lucien knew exactly why he'd recruited me, while the traitor did not. This was the flaw in his plan, that he couldn't blame me for all those deaths beforehand - no wonder Lucien had thought I'd gone mad.

This didn't, however, detract me from the fact that this man was the real crazy one in this situation; talking to a head and writing in blood, et cetera. He wanted the Dark Brotherhood eradicated and Lucien dead, and he'd dropped all morals and sanity to get this far.

_Now Lachance's fool Silencer is working for us, mother! Oh, the fun we'll have. One of the Black Hand told me they haven't seen such an ambitious family member since I joined the Dark Brotherhood. I will use that very ambition to my own advantage. The fool will never question the dead drops, and as I write this is en route to the first target - one of the members of the Black Hand!_

There it was again: the fault of my own judgement. I should have found Lucien, asked him about the third note, let him explain...but I hadn't. That was what had happened, and this was what I was doing to make up for that. There was no point wishing that I'd done things differently now.

I suddenly moved on to wonder, did he know who I was, what I looked like? If he wanted to kill me at any time, he could easily find me if he knew. He was a member of the Black Hand; Lucien would have told them about me.

_Eventually, as is the custom, the survivors will consult the Night Mother and seek her guidance. When that day comes, I will be there, ready to plunge a blade into that dark whore's fetid heart!_

The final sentence in the journal was written backwards, mirror image, but easy enough to read:

_Lucien Lachance will die!_

I shut the book, the glare of the scarlet writing still projecting an image in my line of sight, as well as the content in my memory. His actual planning was enthralling, admirable even, but what he was trying to achieve would not be tolerated.

I stood up rapidly from the grime layered floor, journal as well as lifeline clutched close to me as I went for the door, planning to just run past the dog still outside it. I had to get back to Lucien. I didn't know the plan after that, but I didn't care for now. I owed him so much, and bringing this information to his attention was the least I could do.

I also needed to hear his reasoning, other than 'never refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior', because I knew his mind worked differently to that - I'd seen it on his face in Chorrol. I'd learned that orders were given to the members most suited to the job, so petty contracts would have been allocated to someone else. Lucien, on the other hand, would need something more than a simple declared target and order. That was why he had been chosen as Speaker.

That was why I hadn't questioned anything. I trusted in him that whoever I killed had a good reason to be marked by the Black Sacrament. I respected him as I felt he respected me. If he didn't, I wouldn't feel so strongly about maintaining his safety, and I couldn't do that if I didn't act fast.

My hand reached the door handle, the age of it making a rattling sound because of the speed I grabbed it with. A moment later, the dog began to bark, warning growls surfacing as it heard my movement inside the room. I could picture it staring at the door, teeth bared and hackles raised, expecting me to harm it if I got too close. I took a deep breath, ready to make a run for it...

Another door lock clicked. The dog's barks paused before transforming into whines and nervous growls as we both heard voices, both male. The door closed behind them. One voice grew louder, and I recognised it as Ulfgar Fog-Eye. What he was saying was indiscernible at the moment, but his tone was unmistakably fearful and submissive. The other I didn't know, but there was only one possibility of their identity.

This was our resident psychopath, sociopath and traitor to the Dark Brotherhood, and I had shut myself inside his living room. With his plans. And his mother.

I'd seen and knew too much already. If he found me here, I could only guarantee one thing: I wasn't leaving here in one piece, dead or alive.


	4. Ch 4: Fight or Flight

**Chapter 4**

**Fight or Flight**

"I'm sorry," Ulfgar pleaded, coughing as he took in the vile stench around him. "She was armed; I had to give her the key!"

"I thought you were reliable," the traitor snapped back. "How many times have I made it clear: no one comes down here without my permission."

His voice was calm and controlling, as I had expected, dictating obedience and order. 'Sickeningly ironic' I believed he would call it.

Their footsteps drew nearer, and even when I knew they intended to search the room I stood in, only now did I react. I sprung as quietly as I could away from the door, and searched desperately around me for something, anything to hide me. By the walls, there were crates, some in the dark corner where the dog had first appeared from. It would have to do.

But, moving over there, I found no space for me to slide in between or behind them without causing a noticeable change to their position. He'd figure it out straight away.

Outside, I heard a metallic chiming sound - a sword or dagger being unsheathed - followed by the ceasing of the dog's growls, just a pained and high-pitched cry to be heard before the silence washed over the room. The only sound that emerged from this was Ulfgar's shocked and rapid breathing after what he had just witnessed.

"W-why did you d-do that?"

"Do not question me, old man," the traitor hissed firmly, though never raised his skin-crawling voice. "I would advise you to question instead whether you like your life, then consider whether you will heed my orders. Am I understood?"

I assumed that he nodded in agreement before falling silent.

"Good. So glad we agree."

He'd reach the door soon. He'd find me here. I could hardly attempt to confront him now, not when he was in an environment he was so comfortable in; not when I'd seen what he was capable of. Frantically, I kept looking for anything I hadn't noticed in the dark room yet.

"Did she say why she wanted the key? Who was she?"

"Sh-she was a Dunmer, black armour, she wore a cowl," Ulfgar stammered, his voice trembling. "As for w-why she w-wanted the key, I d-don't know. I d-didn't want any trouble!"

"Well, well," the traitor answered knowingly after a momentary pause. "It appears Lachance's dear little Silencer is more intelligent than I expected."

So he did know me, and that I'd worked out where he was. I feared for that poor wood elf. And Lucien...

By Sithis, there was a crate open! How hadn't I seen that? I hated being closed in, but I could fit in there, and he was getting closer.

In a single split-second decision, I dived inside, pressing my back against one of the back corners despite my head not really fitting, and pulled up an inside rope handle on the open side that lay on the floor. It closed completely just as I heard the door latch's rusty scraping as the handle was turned; the creaking of the hinges as it was pushed open.

I tried so hard to muffle my breathing, to stay motionless in this uncomfortable slouched position, but I was so petrified that the responses were instinctive and automatic. My survival mode came into play at the perfect time as I held the rope tightly in my grasp, my ear pressed against the hinged side as I listened in on their conversation.

"W-what's that?" Ulfgar asked, extremely scared - probably referring to the head on the candlelit shrine.

"None of your concern," the traitor replied casually, as though this wasn't entirely out of the ordinary.

I could hear fast-paced footsteps as he walked over to it. There was a pause, and a few hushed words that I could not decipher from inside the crate. I thought he was perhaps telling his 'mother' there was nothing to worry about, that he'd catch the nasty woman, et cetera, et cetera, but whatever it was, it was right at the bottom of the scales of normality, or sanity even.

I heard a few more steps before another pause.

"Is a-anything wrong?" Ulfgar pitched in nervously, trying to gain the man's favour by acting concerned.

"You really want to know, old man?" he answered, frustrated, with a pitch of worry in his so far calm tone. "I've been using that same Dark Elf you met to kill members of the Dark Brotherhood. And she now has all my written plans, thanks to your utter weakness."

Ulfgar remained silent and still as the traitor's footsteps approached him.

"By the time this information is relayed, they'll know I am, in fact, the real traitor," he continued, condescending the lighthouse keeper all the time he spoke. "By that time, all my years of planning will be for nothing. And most of that is down to you."

Ulfgar whimpered and trembled, the shaking apparent in his voice as the traitor's footsteps ceased, possibly directly in front of him.

"I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry!" he pleaded, but was not able to raise the volume of his voice. "W-why...why did you t-tell me all this?"

The traitor snorted in amusement, then began to speak in a low and sinister tone.

"After what you have just seen, did you really consider the possibility of leaving here alive? How feeble of you."

I heard the unmistakable sound of a blade penetrating flesh, followed by a shocked inhale of breath before it was withdrawn in sync with Ulfgar's final exhale of air. There was a thud as the traitor resheathed his killing instrument.

I was trying harder than ever to control the volume of my breathing, now that he had no other living person to pass the sound off on. I was terrified; the dread of being found throwing a more powerful wave over me until I was so immersed in fear that I felt I would drown under my own emotions. The excess power and control that I felt resonating from him was something I'd not had to cower in the shadow of for a long time, but this new found version of it was going to do its best to destroy my strength all over again. But then...

"I'm sorry, Mother! I didn't know they'd find us! Never thought our plans would be taken! But don't worry, Mother - Lachance will pay for what he's done, I promise you!"

...I hadn't expected this breakdown of apology to a head. Not from him; it just didn't make him seem capable of anything I'd seen when this side of his personality was at the surface. He seemed too much like a scared child with false threats escaping from his mouth, but it was him who was looking to destroy us all, so I would not allow him to deceive my judgement or earn my pity as he blathered on.

"Never should have trusted him...should have disposed of Lachance's fool Silencer when I had the opportunity...killed her before he found her instead...I've left it too long, too long - Lachance should lie dead by now!"

By Sithis, we were both in danger. He wanted us both dead, though the reasoning was not entirely clear.

At this point, when I had briefly considered killing him while he was distracted, I obviously decided against it. I had no choice but to stay inside the crate, even when my whole body was aching with stress, with fear and with worry. I was so scared that I wouldn't be able to remain still any longer, but then I'd be found, and Lucien would believe I'd abandoned him: there wouldn't be a high possibility that I would get back to him with the information he needed.

The traitor then said something that made me fear for more than my own safety:

"We must find him immediately, Mother; check everywhere he could be," he continued, sickening enthusiasm in his voice. "I suppose we should start with 'safe' places...the empty target locations for instance! He'll think they're safe, that I won't find him there. Ha! How sorry he'll be!"

He couldn't do that. I wouldn't allow him to do that, because no matter how cunning or sly he thought he was, I knew his plans, and I could get to Applewatch faster than he ever could. But what I would do after that, I didn't know.

"Lachance and his Silencer will know who the traitor is soon, and before they can act, I'll cut them down where they stand!" he near shouted with joy as I heard an impact of a blade on wood, probably stabbing the small table, studying how cleanly it could cut. "Who will question me? No one! I'd only be doing a duty, after all."

There was movement outside, something like pacing and putting things in a bag. His quickening footsteps briefly drew dangerously near to the very crate I was hiding in, but paid no attention to it. I'd held my breath, but there was only so long I could do that for.

"Things may well go according to plan, Mother, but our necessary precautions must be arranged anyway, just to be safe," he went on, talking as though expecting an answer. "That should be easy enough though. I've gained their trust enough to be allowed to give orders, and they'll just love the prospect of a hunt."

His voice's pitch varied more often than any sane person, and the actual content of his speech was terrifying. When he left, and I was on my way to Applewatch, the chances were that in between that time the Black hand would also be following. What was worse was that I knew of a Sanctuary in Bruma - if any contact was made there earlier, I'd have no time to warn Lucien.

I heard the dousing of candles, followed by the unique smell of charred rope as the lights were put out in the room. The small spaces in the box walls turned to darkness, though the now faint glow from through the open door still allowed me to see past more than a centimetre. But when he closed the door, when he left, there'd be no reassuring light at all.

"I'll be back with good news very soon, Mother," he concluded, his voice uncharacteristically soft as I heard his footsteps pause. "Then, after so very long, Lachance will get what he deserves, and the Dark Brotherhood will fall to ruin without their precious Night Mother!"

What made him all the more threatening was that his voice never changed. It had continued in a gentle monotone, almost as though what he said was so mundane as asking about the weather. I'd not even seen his face, not even stood in his visible presence, but despite that, he was holding me scared to one spot.

It wasn't him as a person that I feared, as I knew that a person could be beaten, rather it was how he would go about defending himself that made a coward of me. If I was reckless enough to attack him at any time when he was alert, I wouldn't have eyes to see how it would end.

I was snapped out of my thoughts and unmoving state by the slamming of the door, although I wasn't sure if I really was out of my own mind, for when my eyes opened I was in pitch dark.

The footsteps of the traitor faded away eventually, only just silencing before the front door to the cellar squeaked on its hinges as it was opened, shutting more forcefully than before with the clearly audible power of the weather outside.

I still remained in the same position for a few more moments, imagining that it would just be typical of my luck for him to walk back in as soon as I opened the crate and stepped out. After a while, I felt sure enough that it wouldn't happen, so let go of the rope that held the crate's hatch closed. It fell from my grasp and hit the floor in a cloud of dust - vaguely visible in the beams of light that shone under this room's door - and anything else that had layered above and below it.

The first thing I did as I crawled out of that somehow tightening space was to take a long and deep inhale of air, but it was not as welcoming as I had tricked myself into expecting. The stench I had temporarily escaped was the only thing I was greeted with, only making me cough as though I was able to rid myself of it with this reaction. I fought this back by forcing myself to straighten up into a standing position, continuing to try to breathe steadily. It was such effort that my eyes were beginning to water and obscure my vision, or whatever I could see directly in front of my face, as it was so dark in here.

With no other thoughts in my head but to get out of this environment, I shot towards the door, but as soon as I grabbed the very slightly open door frame, my foot was caught on something. I toppled forwards, but managed to stay upright at least with my hold on the door. Whatever it was, it hadn't been there before, then I suddenly remembered: Ulfgar. I'd just tripped over the lighthouse keeper's dead body.

Trying not to think about that, I slipped through the doorway back into the main house of horrors, and back into the light. Luckily, I had not been out of it long enough to be half blinded by the shock.

I didn't need to look around to find the way out, not that I wanted to, but unfortunately that was impossible. The absolute violence couldn't help but draw someone's eye - I simply tried my best while I ran to the front door.

Once I'd got that open and was outside, my head began to work properly again.

I was woken up from my shocked trance by the pelting rain that fell like a horde of arrows, so heavy that the soil beneath me had run out of capacity to store it, and so marsh like puddles were beginning to form along the coastal vegetation. The clouds, despite this freeing weather, were inky and overcast, shadow and darkness covering the once bright and visible moons in the night sky. The gale had died down a little, but was still present enough to sway me where I stood, threatening to be the cause of my fall.

Amidst this chaos, I was trying my hardest to stay calm, bracing myself before facing a storm of my own: when I got to Applewatch, then I would have to face the plans of a madman head on, and from what I'd heard, he'd be bringing the other now-brainwashed members of the Black Hand with him. I didn't even know how many there were left, so I didn't know how many Lucien and I would have to convince to believe our truth in these events. In spite of the journal - still gripped tightly to me in one arm - they could act quicker than they listened, that I knew. If I could get there in time, then maybe we stood a good chance of beating the traitor.

I edged around the lighthouse walls, checking whether or not he was anywhere nearby, or indeed still here. But there was nothing and nobody around, not visible through the rain at least.

I didn't need to go through the town to arrive back at the stables outside the walls, so I didn't need to risk being seen by the same people again, or being spotted by him. The more solitary I was, the less likely I was to be suspected: it would seem too obvious.

By the time I arrived at the stable, I wasn't entirely sure how I was able to get there in the daze I had been in. It felt as though I wasn't functioning manually, or I didn't think I needed to. With just one goal in my head there was no point of dwelling on it further until I got back to Lucien.

Shadowmere's black velvet ears pricked up to attention as she raised her head to face me, an uncertain and low sound resonating from her throat as she picked up on my mood. As I reached the wooden gate of the field around the stable, she had already trotted over to meet me, her almost glowing red eyes looking me over as she attempted to work out what was wrong.

"It's bad; just trust me on that," I explained to her as though she was another person I could converse with, pushing my way through the gate.

I supposed I could say that she had been a friend to me, especially seeing as I travelled and worked alone now. Despite at first being Lucien's horse, she'd bonded quite quickly with me. Often she picked up on exactly how I felt and did everything I told her to without effort, although at other times she could be somewhat...aggressive, should I say. Not towards me, but anyone else she saw to be hostile. I wasn't complaining; it was actually very helpful to have a horse who acted as though they were a trained mercenary, particularly in my line of work.

Now was certainly one of the times she had to cooperate if this was going to go according to plan. If it didn't, then I would lose my new found familiarity in the Dark Brotherhood - my sanctuary. I said new even when I'd been part of them for eight whole months now, but it still felt new: every contract, every fresh instruction made it seem new every time, but it was safety to me all the same.

Lucien was part of that familiarity, and losing him would mean no anchor, no constant to return to then. And of course I cared for his personal safety as well as what he represented in my mind; I'd never choose to see him hurt of suffering at the hands of anyone, not if I was able to prevent it. He trusted me, and I also got the impression that he was as concerned for my well-being as I was for his. I couldn't let anything happen. I wouldn't.

As I was lost in thought, I felt a nudge at my left shoulder. I turned my head to see the impatient and curious eyes of Shadowmere gazing back. She knew full well something was wrong - though exactly what she did not know - and was just as ready to act as me.

I loosened the cords on the supply bag that held almost everything I owned - the rest I was carrying on me - and safely stored the journal inside before fastening it onto the back of the saddle again. By 'almost everything', I meant gold and spare weapons and clothes, since that was all I needed - food I could get at an inn.

Pushing myself up with one foot on the stirrup, I finally climbed up onto Shadowmere's back; she automatically began to walk out of the open gate as I did. Her still pricked ears that occasionally twitched at any surrounding sounds told me she was alert and eager, which was a good thing: there was quite a way to go from here.

I directed her line of sight North-East, away from the conformist route along the Gold Road, and out of the noticeable range of tracking. By cutting across the Colovian Highlands and Great Forest, I could get there in half the time with half the chance of being detected, but that was assuming Shadowmere was able to travel at a gallop for all that time, which was near impossible for any horse.

I gripped hold of the reins in both hands, pulling them to the front of the saddle where I was able to hang on more firmly as she ran, until there was a long loop that hung loose from my hands by the side of her shoulder; tight enough to keep me in control, but still the right amount of slack for her to still use the movement in her neck.

I told her to run, and by Sithis, she ran.

* * *

The little farm was exactly as I remembered from all those months ago: small but enough room to live inside, with terracotta brick walls and golden thatched roof. Very fitting and stereotypical of an out-of-the-way house, as well as being nestled at the foot of wooded slopes and a stretch of snowy plain between it and the somewhat ignored city of Bruma, inhabited mostly by Nords who had somehow spilled over the edges of Skyrim.

I tried to halt Shadowmere as we approached the knee-high wall that surrounded the farmstead at a canter, but the air was filled with such anxiety that she didn't pay any attention, instead making easy work of clearing her hurdle before finally skidding to a stop as she landed. She knew something was amiss as much as I did.

After sliding off of her, I turned back to the path we had just taken, scanning instinctively over the area for any signs of movement besides that of roaming deer on the forest's outskirts. Despite the now shadow shrouded landscape under a bitter cold sky, I knew there was no one there; no unwanted sets of eyes on me, no sounds of footsteps in the deafening silence, no hushed breathing except for Shadowmere and I, although even after running all this way, her breathing had peculiarly returned to normal.

If there had been any trackers after us, they would have to be persistent, and very fast, although not even someone who was a mentor of that profession could be in pursuit: half the journey had been spent under a thundering sky that was over-encumbered with rain to wash away any hoof prints made on the ground. We'd had to stoop now and then, but it was never enough time for anyone to note the path of progress.

The traitor could never immediately know where Lucien was hiding, but that was a matter of chance. I'd heard myself that he was going to check every target's residence. He'd know which ones were habitable and which were not, based on the race that once lived there or the location itself. Applewatch would be an obviously viable option. And all the targets had been in Cyrodiil: there was no safe place in this province. We had to get out, though I didn't know where.

I'd thought about it a lot on the long ride here, and this was the most secure way of going about things - it was something the traitor may suspect, but I hoped he wouldn't consider it an immediate option.

Shadowmere was on edge again, unable to stand still as he continued to vary her footing while her ears swivelled around, listening intently for any approaching presence. I moved up to the front of her and took hold of her bridle on either side of her head, trying to calm her down.

"Shh, quiet," I assured her, making as much eye contact as I was able. "You stay here, and don't go anywhere - stay."

By using as many key words as she understood, her ears pricked forward and her head lowered half-way in acceptance of my ruling. I stroked the side of her neck a few times before releasing my grip on the leather bridle and backing away in the direction of the door. As I turned and quickened my pace, I could feel her still confused eyes on my back, but faithfully, she remained where I had told her.

As I pushed the door open, the seemingly intense heat from a fireplace hit me, making a nice contrast to the numbing air that I'd forced myself to get used to as I headed North, just one small heat source enough for this quaint interior as it filled the whole space with warmth. It was also appeared to be the only light source at night, so just one corner of the room was clearly visible, though other pieces of furniture were highlighted in a flickering orange glow, so I wouldn't be tripping over anything again.

The hooded and robed silhouette of Lucien was leaning against a beam of wood that supported the roof foundations, arms folded defensively in front of him, face turned towards the fire. He didn't appear at all alert or aware of his surroundings; if anyone was going to ambush they certainly would have an easy time of it. He was still under the illusion that this location was safe, and had most probably tried to drop all anxiety while believing in that pretence. The exhaustion of being on the run for months - fearing any day could be the last - had only begun to sink in now, but still he was not relaxed enough to actually sleep.

I slammed the door hard behind me and saw him immediately turn to face me, tense only for a moment as he thought his safety had been shattered, but as he looked again, he let out a welcome sigh of relief.

I could only see half of his face in the firelight, but it was easy enough to tell that he was pleased it was me and not anybody else. Same went for me as well.

"Elenar," Lucien breathed, relaxing a little before he took notice of the expression on my face. "What happened? Did you find anything?"

From the near fearful tone that had entered his voice, he knew full well I had, though how much he was yet to find out. I nodded quickly in agreement before replying.

"I found pretty much everything we need, except a name."

Although, I had that slime-filled voice in my head that made me shudder every time I replayed it. It was unmistakable even if surrounded by a crowd, so if he was with the rest of the Black Hand when confronted, I'd know just who it was.

"Listen, Lucien: I can't go in to detail about this now," I told him assertively as he opened his mouth to answer. "We need to leave here as soon as possible, in the next hour, really."

"Why?" he questioned immediately, understandably confused. "I thought - "

"Here was safe?" I interrupted, pushing down this expected fight. "It's not now - this is probably the least safe place you can be. That's why we need to leave."

"How do you know all this?"

"Because, Lucien," I continued, my voice remaining firm as I approached him; "you're the main target of this betrayal. The traitor's done all of this because he wants you dead. I can't explain now, but he's most probably on his way here first, or that's what I heard."

Lucien's face froze in an expression of disbelief and terror, and in hope his eyes searched mine for any hint of a lie. He, of course, found nothing that he wanted to accept. He turned fully away from me, watching the shaking flames again while trying to put all his thoughts in to order. In between breaths that he had paused for a few seconds, he spoke up again.

"How long ago did you hear that?"

"Um...about four hours after you told me to go to the next dead drop," I calculated, out on the spot a little. "About that, anyway."

Lucien sighed deeply, but his breath was separated and broken; instead of one short exhale, it trembled like fire that danced on the walls. There was no warm atmosphere left in this room, despite the feeble attempts by the flame's glimmer in the dark, and even that would gradually fade to ash.

"If the traitor is on his way here right now, he'll be very close," Lucien uttered gravely, almost to himself.

"That's exactly my point," I less than hesitated to reply, trying to keep my tone of voice soft yet authoritative: I'd already caused fright, but because of this he needed someone to tell him what to do now, though fear was the only way it seemed of getting through to him completely. He didn't even question how I heard it, but the fact that it had happened seemed enough for him at this point.

"That's exactly why we need to leave."

I had to repeat it again, as he may not have fully registered it before.

He turned slowly back around, but didn't face me. Instead his dark eyes were on the floor, shifting slightly with paranoia yet again.

"Where?" he asked in a low voice. I supposed it was time to admit I hadn't really considered that in depth.

"I didn't work that out exactly," I admitted. "But the best thing would be to get as far away from Cyrodiil as possible, I think."

I saw the light in his eyes flitting about with ideas as he turned his attention to a relatively small window, to his right on the wall behind me. He gazed fixedly at the growing glare of steadily falling snow outside before answering.

"From here we could get to any of three borderlines, undetected if we stayed near the Northern mountains," he continued, subtle changes of facial expression clearly showing how his mind was working. "Though Hammerfell is far too open to stay hidden in, and Morrowind would seem too obvious."

He glanced once back into my eyes empathetically as he said that. "We wouldn't go there anyway, not if you didn't want to."

I gave a brief and weak smile in reply, telling him that of course I didn't. And the traitor knew I was a Dunmer - Morrowind would possibly be his first suspicion. In addition, the Morag Tong, our little government's 'legal' assassin's guild, would not even tolerate our presence there; everything would be too risky.

"That leaves nothing but the Falkreath Pass into Skyrim," Lucien decided, though his voice was still repressed with shock that this had happened so quickly. "It's only two hours away on horseback. Do you have everything you need?"

"Yeah," I replied, correctly assuming he meant supplies before I glanced with an idea of hypocrisy around the seemingly bare room. "Do you?"

Lucien's eyes motioned to a large bag and a rolled up blanket that rested against a chest of drawers to my right. "That's everything I took out of Fort Farragut. I've carried it with me from each hiding place since the Black Hand's hunt began."

The same drained expression I had witnessed in Bravil came over him again; it seemed such realisation was affecting him badly. As well as being forced into being fully aware of his own mortality, I believed that another reason for this bad acceptance was that a group, a second family to both of us, that he had been so loyal to and served with every effort he could muster had turned against him so suddenly, no word of warning and no reasoning.

I'd been part of the Dark Brotherhood for a far shorter time than he had, so the feeling of betrayal for me was probably bite sized compared with the perfectly clear solitude that continued to try to work its way to the surface of his eyes.

I had no clue how to respond to this: not once in my life had I been the one to take responsibility of someone in distress, seeing as I was the youngest in my house. Everyone had already formed those roles before I came along, so usually I never thought it was worth getting involved with anything like that.

Joining the Dark Brotherhood almost put me in the same situation, and possibly, comparing both race and age, I still came out as the youngest. In role, I was still doing what someone else told me, though that didn't make me inferior to anyone. Still, seeing Lucien slowly breaking and battling tears in front of me made me want to be: the responsibility I felt of having to try and stabilise that frightened me, mostly because I'd never had to take absolute charge of anything, despite the fact that I was able to. I only did what was necessary when there was nothing else to be done, or no other choice in the matter.

I knew that he wanted and needed to leave, but a repetition of his resolution to stay in Applewatch gave him a phantom sense of security. It was the only thing keeping his feet planted to the spot rather than pick up his belongings and run for his life again. Of course he was sick of that, of course he was exasperated of being given only one option of having to survive, but it was the only choice now, for both of us, and getting that through to him right now was my one option.

I put my hands on the sides of his shoulders and gripped hard enough to gain his attention, but not forceful enough to make him think that I didn't care. He faced me immediately, hazel eyes glinting with moisture and over-exhaustion as I met them directly in front of mine. He was absolutely drained of energy, but I wasn't going to allow him to do nothing.

"Lucien, we both know there isn't anything else we can do about this," I went on, keeping calm but still asserting my argument. "We have to go now. If we don't, he'll catch up, and nothing is going back to normal then. You can either stay here and wait for that to happen, or you can take my advice, and get away; wait for the rest of the Black hand to calm down, and make the traitor think he's lost us. That way, they won't be expecting a confrontation after a time, and we'll be heard, not slaughtered on site. So I'll say it again: we have to run right now."

The last two words I said as though they were separate sentences to each other, making them the two words that broke his trance.

The haze lifted and the light shone out again from the eyes I stared into, the realism that had once paralysed him with fear now the thing motivating him to move again. It didn't mean he was any less afraid, but he was responding at least.

"Alright," he finally answered, slowly blinking as his breathing began to steady.

I returned my arms to my sides as Lucien scooped up both the bag and blanket in one movement, probably taking advantage of his decision before having any chance to change his mind, before giving a small nod in my direction and breathing in deeply.

Once outside with the door closed behind us, Shadowmere had already walked over, still wondering at the unusual atmosphere and turn of events. Her ears immediately pricked up in surprise at Lucien's presence, she expectedly stretched her neck past me to greet him. Less expectedly, she brought out a smile from him, despite the state I had witnessed not a minute ago. She pulled back almost instantly after that though, sensing that same uneasiness from someone else, and that only caused her more distress than it was worth. She wanted to know exactly what was wrong, to be assured somehow that it wouldn't affect her, but there wasn't anything we could say that she would understand.

Somehow, I got her to stand still long enough to allow Lucien to attach the bag to the back of the saddle before tying the blanket roll into its strap. His face was serious and lost in thought again, though he was able to keep the pretence of calm as he stroked Shadowmere's neck with his left hand, his right resting on the saddle while I held the reins that hung below her head. I watched him closely with concern; I sympathised but wouldn't let him try and run from this plan.

"Do you know the way there?" he asked, though I suspected he already knew that answer.

"I've never willingly crossed any borderline," I continued. "So no, I don't. I certainly hope you do, otherwise this is pointless."

"Fortunately," he agreed, an absent-minded expression on his face, but his voice was normal and soft, almost as though he had lost his hold on balancing emotions, not knowing how to respond under the influence of this situation. It was understandable of course, for when had he ever had to deal with anything even bordering on similarity?

A rustle of leaves or grass came from behind the both of us, though Lucien's reaction was the quickest by far. We both jerked our heads around, attentive and vigilant as we searched the shadows behind the unsettling snowflakes, but a crow's caw and ascent from a nearby tree confirmed the sound source. I turned back to Lucien, who was still staring out at the emptiness, still expecting something else, causing even his breath to remain idle. When he did move again, he bowed his head and shut his eyes, one single exhale of breath creating a trail of mist in the air in front of him.

I had to admit, I was being forced so close to the edge that my first thought was also of a stalker when the sudden death of silence had rung out under the navy blue sky.

The longer that we simply discussed leaving, the less time we had available to stay unfollowed.

Eventually, as he took in the relief of a non-dangerous presence, Lucien moved his eyes back to me, now brimming with fortified resolve. As they locked my own gaze, that same thought passed through the biting air of the space between us; no speech needed to confirm it, no further discussion arising to challenge it.

He spun around back to Shadowmere, then hauled himself up on to the saddle with almost no effort at all, taking hold of the reins with one hand. I grabbed hold of the other one which he held out to me, and was lifted up to be seated behind him.

I felt quite a bit out of control, but would have felt it more so if I'd decided to be stubborn and steer Shadowmere instead, having to take continual directions from Lucien, probably never getting anywhere but lost.

As he turned Shadowmere left towards a collapsed section of the small stone wall, my safety instinct finally made my arms clasp themselves around him, which undoubtedly felt a little unnatural at first: for all the time I'd known Lucien we'd never really made any physical contact of any kind, except to make a point - the first time used as a threat in Bravil, and even that had only been a few hours ago. Now, I was going to be holding on to him for however long it took to get in to Skyrim. So, like I said, a little unnatural.

'A few hours ago.' Had all of this just happened so short a time in the past?

I felt him pause as he looked out at the dirt road in front of us, leading in to the snow covered mountains and fir trees ahead. I assumed it was still nerves and apprehension, judging by the sudden tensed muscles and still of breath, but the vibe I picked up was eminently mixed; I couldn't see his face, so it was hard to distinguish.

"You okay?" I asked agitatedly after waiting for him to start breathing again.

"Yes," he replied after a moment, sounding as though his throat had gone dry. "I'm fine."

Of course he wasn't. Good as Lucien was at hiding things most of the time, major emotions weren't included in that list. His words could lie, but the battle ultimately won over to pressurising feelings underneath. Men were bad liars in general, really. I decided to pretend I didn't notice though, as the last thing he needed was to be more fretful than he already was; I gave no reply of observation, but unfortunately I knew that Lucien was intuitive enough to already be aware of what I thought.

Shadowmere pawed the ground, anxious for the exercise she had - to her knowledge - been promised, snorting once with restlessness. As Lucien lifted the reins towards him and let a loop fall to the side, her ears pricked forwards with silent anticipation. Before my expecting of her having to be told to move, she sprang at a gallop through the gap in the wall, being steered West up the mountain path, speed increasing as the nipping air whistled past us.

I tightened my initial grip around Lucien's waist until I was quite literally hanging on for dear life, not foreseeing this amount of speed from Shadowmere, never having experienced this amount of power.

After just a minute of following the bare dust path, no surroundings but boulders and lone tree frames that had lost their leaves to the approaching winter chill, we made a sharp left turn on to a steep yet low ledge, but Shadowmere's thundering hooves made easy work of all but flying over it.

Ahead was a rickety looking bridge, but it turned out to be sturdy enough as we crossed it, coming to a fork in the path. Without any sign of over thought, Lucien pulled the reins left, the path leading down to lower plains of greenery, although everything appeared shrouded in shadow in the low-key light from the sky.

Rocky and jagged landscape slowly merged into forest and dense vegetation as the now vague path continued past an old fort. There was some movement of figures in my peripheral vision by the outside walls, but there was no interest paid to our brief presence there before we turned towards a small pass between two mountains.

Dotted in almost equal spaces between each other as we continued onwards were white stone steps along the path, which helped Shadowmere's grip immensely on the heavily slanted gradient that led up through the thinning snowfall; the flakes being caught by the thick branches overhead.

We came off of the path and on to the last green grass in view before a plain of rocks under a duvet of white became visible over the edge of the tall trees. Shadowmere was slowed to a canter as we came to a gentle sloped hill that led down to the plain, tossing her head as a sudden gust of wind blew at us without any shield of the woods. The trees had begun to rapidly disperse in number until the plain we travelled over became just a stretch of ivory on either side of us, the snow so deep in some places that it was being kicked up in plumes behind us by Shadowmere's hooves as she cut through it. Only by watching the ground could I tell that we had come on to a path, trodden in by an array of people recently that it had become trodden in, too damp for snow to settle.

The snow, that had been blinding even under a blackened sky, gradually transformed again in to the beginnings of another forest. The trees on the edge of it were still fir, but a calming smell of pine needles was wafting over from the distance, growing ever nearer and nearer as we powered towards the wall of deep, dark green and ember. The worn path we followed led us through a gap in this dense border, brightness from the moons and stars up above dimming under the overlapping branches, though some beams of white still shone through the spaces between the needles.

Shadowmere's speed began to gradually decrease as Lucien halted her with the reins, eventually coming to a stop when we were at a safe distance inside the forest to check our surroundings; a place where we were not too exposed to any watchful eyes.

I gazed back to the white plain behind us. There was no movement, no sound, only welcome silence as a thin crimson line was appearing on the horizon. Sunrise was not far away.

"What now?" I asked, surprised to be short of breath. It was probably because of the high altitude at the moment. "We're out of Cyrodiil now, aren't we?"

"It doesn't mean we're safe yet though," Lucien replied, also breathless, distant despite being so close. "We need to find somewhere to stay; rest, then plan what to do next. I think for today we'd be safe at an inn: it will take a while longer for the Black Hand to realise we've gone."

He spoke as though the idea was escaping his subconscious, and I knew he'd been holding back any other thoughts until we crossed the border also, but his mind had probably been reeling for the whole journey.

"The route we just took isn't really official on any map, just a shortcut I found once; no one will be able to follow us directly," Lucien went on, not much emotion in his voice but an underlying anxiety. "No main towns or cities though: risk of more people seeing us."

"Are there any small towns near here?"

Lucien sighed in contemplation, then turned his head towards Skyrim, as if he could see through the trees to our unplanned destination. Shadowmere was sniffing the crisp air, her head outstretched with curiosity, less than concerned about where we were actually going.

"There's one East of Falkreath, in a valley hidden from view," he explained. "No Dark Brotherhood trackers would follow us in there, assuming the Skyrim Sanctuaries have been informed of treachery."

That didn't give out the best message.

"If other members aren't going in there, why can we?" I questioned doubtfully.

"The guards won't recognise your armour. As long as we arrive and leave within a short enough time, there won't be any chance of suspicion."

"And how many guards are there?"

"There's two watchtowers, one on either side of the walls," Lucien answered, a little reluctant to tell me. "I can't see there being many town guards, but some of the Imperial Legion make it their base when travelling."

"Is that why we have to leave quickly?"

"I'm sorry," he told me, turning his head as best he could towards me. "This is the best option we've got at short notice."

His voice sounded genuinely sympathetic, able to be trusted again. There wasn't really anything else I could input into this conversation: I didn't know anywhere else we could go, and I had no real reasoning other than the Legion guards might take an interest in what we were doing rather than carrying out their official orders. From what I knew of Imperial guards, that was an almost impossible chance.

I also had faith that Lucien and I could fend them off easily if it came to that. I had faith that we'd be able to protect each other, because if one of us lost the other at any time, I didn't think either of us would know what to do: I felt my job in this was almost as a shield, as security to be relied on. Although he wouldn't admit this, I knew that's what he needed; being alone and caught up in something he couldn't control had made him feel both vulnerable and defensive, so he had to have someone to steady him, otherwise the fortifications he was attempting to build back up would crumble, and he would end up the same quivering mess that had confronted me in Bravil.

If I lost him, then what purpose would I feel I could serve after that? By having something strived for in vain, could I really accept any other duty from who I would then see as antagonists? I didn't know, and that's precisely why I needed him too, though I would not admit that either.

"I trust your judgement," I eventually agreed, tightening my grip ever so slightly again around him. "We should get going then."

"I suppose we should," he replied, a returning dazed tone indicating an event reminder as he faced forwards to the now non-existent pathway, before setting Shadowmere off at a measured canter through the towering pine trees.

* * *

Helgen, as I learned was the small town's name, appeared larger than I first presumed. I had expected a simple row of residences and family-owned stores on either side of a road, but this was fully walled in, complete with the security of being strangely hidden unless approached from the trampled pathway that led down from Falkreath. Ironically, the main town of Falkreath was far more simple in appearance to this.

The town guard who was lazily patrolling the top of the arched entrance we passed under barely acknowledged our presence, but it was good to know that we weren't considered to look like a threat of any kind. That ultimately meant that, even if there were members of the Imperial Legion here, we could go about the place relatively unnoticed.

After we'd taken Shadowmere to a small stable inside the walls, and both scrutinisingly watched the early waking stable hand lead her inside one of the stalls, Lucien, our supplies - minus the blanket - and I started to head over to a small and weathered looking wooden framed inn, the second building from the gate. Although, the time now must have been about 5:00a.m. or a little earlier; I wondered whether anyone but the stable workers were awake now.

This brought my attention back to the state Lucien was in: he had to be thoroughly exhausted by all this and there was no sign that he had gotten any rest while hiding out at Applewatch. When we'd stopped and dismounted Shadowmere outside the stables, I'd met his thankful eyes, but in the pale light of the delayed icy sunrise, how bloodshot they were was finally apparent to me. He'd been stressed, and because of this he had hadly slept. he needed to if he was going to have a clear head for however long this journey was going to be: Lucien was the one who set down the instructions, I just carried them out in the best way I thought possible.

"Was there anything written by the traitor that you found?" he suddenly asked impulsively, startling me as I walked beside him. He hadn't spoken another word since crossing the border, so I knew he'd been sitting on a few questions that had formed in his mind. "Letters, notes, anything?"

"I picked up a journal," I replied as a sombre atmosphere came over the conversation, feeling the corner of it hit my side from the bag as its presence was mentioned. "Real cheerful read, that one."

"What does it say?"

"Everything you need to know," I continued. "Whoever he is, you should be able to work it out."

"Where is this journal?" he questioned with eager anxiety, both needing and not wanting to read it.

I'd already pulled the sack off of my shoulder before he started talking again, knowing full well what he would ask. Lucien looked on as I handed it over, watching the book with an expression of revulsion, fearing the contents before even turning to the first page; not dissimilar to my initial reaction of it.

"He seems arrogant enough in what he does to write down all of his plans," I added bitterly. "Thank Sithis he did though."

We were almost at the make-shift wooden steps up to the inn's porch and door. Swinging gently but with a slight squeaking on its hinges was its sign, the name of the inn just visible in what little light was appearing: Black Veil.

"You mentioned something earlier," Lucien began, his tone curious yet apprehensive. "You said that you heard that the traitor was on his way to Applewatch. Was he there, in the place you found this?"

"He happened to show up," I replied, remembering all that turbulent panic that flowed through me when I heard that door slam. "I hid though; he had no idea I was listening."

"But he knows the journal's gone?"

"Oh yes, he knows that's gone," I continued almost matter-of-factly, as if the following sentence didn't mean a thing. "That's why he wants both of us out of the way. He thinks we should both know his plans by now."

As we stepped up on to the porch he halted, standing as still as the night just outside the door, a grave expression seeping on to his face. I was just ahead of him when I stopped also, turning fully towards him as I watch shock and disbelief set in.

"He knew it was you?" he inquired, a tone of concern breaking into his voice.

"The man he was renting the cellar from told him I'd wanted the key," I explained as calmly as I could to prevent Lucien's apparent worry to build. "He guessed who I was straight away; told the rest of his plans to his Mother."

"His Mother was there as well?" Lucien blurted out with confusion.

Briefly, I explained about the head that sat in the centre of the traitor's shrine-like table that he'd talked to, though I decided to avoid the reasoning behind it at this point. It wasn't my place to say anything, and had no idea what reaction that information would receive. I'd let him read it himself - no doubt he would immediately when the chance arose, no matter how physically tired he was: until he knew everything about our antagonist, mental exhaustion was refusing to take its full effect.

I also failed to include any detail about the hapless additional residents of the house of horrors. Lucien most definitely knew had an idea of what lay in store for a Dark Brotherhood betrayer - I'd heard that he'd once dealt with one himself, but I doubted that was for anything as extreme as what he was being accused of - so he didn't need to be more fearful than he was already.

"The rest is in there," I concluded, motioning with my eyes to the journal he held with both hands in front of him. "There's not much else I can say - not without leaving out some important details anyway."

Lucien ended the conversation with a small and silent nod of his head, his eyes fixed again on the book cover as his head bowed slightly towards it. He was now impatient to know its contents.

We proceeded to go inside the inn, a blast of heat greeting us from a large open hearth in the centre of the room as we went through the door. It was a welcome temperature from the bitter cold air, as I was able to pull my hood off without the possibility of my entire face getting frostbite; I smoothed the back of my hair down quickly as I did.

The open fire was large enough to illuminate the whole room, which was already built with dark wood everywhere, including the tables and chairs that bordered three edges of the room; on the fourth was the bar itself.

After I took just three steps towards it, a woman in what looked like a hand stitched blue dress walked briskly out of an open door with a broom in her hand, the loose blonde curls from a ponytail bouncing with each step. She didn't look the type to be nocturnal.

"Oh, by Talos, I don't often get many travellers at this time in the morning," she exclaimed in a thick Nordic accent, placing the broom next to the bar immediately before starting to approach us.

Just by using her shrill tone, both Lucien and I were stopped in our tracks by an unusually cheerful innkeeper. It wasn't a mood either of us appreciated right now, and I knew Lucien would be more than unsettled by someone with such a high energy level when he felt anything but.

"You must have come a long way to get here at this hour," she went on, blissfully ignorant of my slightly stunned expression. "I take it you want a room for the two of you."

"Two rooms," I very quickly corrected her, and hardly wanting to enter the awkward conversation as to why she was wrong, I just carried on as I normally would. "Do you have any?"

"Yes, yes of course," she continued; a little embarrassed by her mistake at first, but collected herself well enough. "That'll be twenty gold for a day."

I went to reach for the bag on my shoulder, but Lucien had already appeared at my side, a small pouch of gold held out to her. She took it from him with a shy smile, her previous demeanour briefly dissolving away as she met his eyes. For a few moments, he was able to make someone believe that he wasn't in danger, that he wasn't afraid for his life with every second that went by. This was both a good and bad thing: avoiding any suspicion was being achieved, but knowing how he felt behind that mask was almost...sad.

"Thank you, um, the rooms are just to your right, on the far wall," she managed to answer, gesturing to the two closed doors there, although she was still talking to Lucien rather than me. "Is there anything else I can get you? Maybe some juniper mead; family recipe. Or some food?"

"Really, just the rooms are fine," I responded firmly, redirecting her attention while getting sick of her constant offers. "Thanks, but we're just tired."

She nodded in acceptance. "Of course, of course - I should know that," she retorted, giving a little laugh to herself. "I'll let you settle in."

She turned away and walked back to the broom, picking it up before descending down a flight of stairs behind the bar, presumably to the basement. I was just content to get a second of silence.

"You didn't have to pay, you know," I said somewhat protectively. "I was going to."

"You've done an exceptional amount already," Lucien replied as he turned his head to face me, his eyes notably intense as he caught my gaze for a few moments. "That was the very least I could do in repayment."

"I guess so," I answered softly, before turning away to cover a yawn. Not that he was boring - I really was just tired.

"You should get some rest."

"So should you."

"I'm going to read this first," he continued, though his voice made it obvious that he was fighting fatigue. "We'll leave tomorrow when I've worked out what to do next."

He sighed heavily, knowing that was something else now adding to the weight piling up on his shoulders. Of course I felt sympathy, and so much pity for him, but when I tried to think of a response, my mind went blank.

"You really should sleep though," he added. "I don't know yet how long we'll be travelling for."

I agreed before wandering towards one of the doors, hearing his closely following footsteps behind me. Even as my hand reached the door handle - which, not so surprisingly, was wooden as well - I could still feel his eyes on me. I couldn't tell what the feeling was behind that, but it wasn't negative, which was obviously a good thing.

"Sleep well," his voice sounded courteously as he stopped outside the other door. There was a very small but noticeable smile on his face as he turned to me and, for once today, it wasn't forced.

"You too," I replied, meeting his now soft gaze.

I knew part of the expression now: I interpreted it as a sort of reliance. I'd known that protection was what he thought I was, but seeing it for myself, as much as I appreciated being looked up to, was a little pressuring. All I could guarantee was doing my best at that job, and I hoped for both our sakes that it was good enough.

With nothing left to say, we just gave each other a brief smile before Lucien finally dropped his eyes and walked into his room, the door clicking shut behind him. I don't know why I felt the need to watch him go in first; maybe because I wanted to make sure that he was actually inside there rather than wandering round a place that had an open fire, while he was reading a journal that talked about his demise non-stop.

My head was almost starting to pound from thinking about it now. It had been the one thing on my mind for hours, and already I was sick of what was happening. If there was something, anything that could erase the whole plot from existence then I would willingly travel any distance, fight anything and anyone to get it...but we didn't live in a fair world, nor one that worked simply. That made me sick more than anything.


	5. Ch 5: Stars Once Veiled

**OC REFERENCES: Kerberos (Khajiit) and Emily (Imperial), my two friends' Skyrim characters ^^**

**If there are any typos or strangely spelt words in here, it was because I was very tired when I typed this up from my horriby scrawled handwriting. It was self-inflicted though, to be fair: I was searching for three hours to find a streaming website where I could watch the pilot of Arrow online, while it was being shown in Canada and the US, of course. That's what happens when you live in the UK waiting for anything other than talent shows to come on TV...so if you find any (mistakes, not websites) you can comment and tell me, and I'll get that sorted ^^**

**UPDATE: Have sorted the typos best I can from the most obvious I could find ^^ Still tell me if you find any others though**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**Stars Once Veiled**

Of course I knew how many were left: four - two Speakers and two Silencers. Why had I convinced myself that there was such an army involved? I was well aware of how the Black Hand worked.

Many delayed ideas and thoughts had come into my head this morning, though most had already dispersed from my short-term memory bank. Maybe it was the postponed shock of yesterday's events that had kept my mind from working as it normally would, but as I'd never been one for easy adjustment to change, I really should have expected it.

Another thing I hadn't expected was the amount of sleep I'd actually had. I thought that my mind's racing would have prevented me from even being able to close my eyes, making more effort than it was worth because of over-exhaustion. Instead, I'd shut down almost instantaneously after my head hit the pillow - or some kind of rolled up pelt of fur; I wasn't quite sure what it was - hence the reason why only now I was going over everything.

Lucien didn't seem to be awake yet; I'd heard nothing from him all morning. I assumed he was sleeping, which was what he needed, but whether he had entered his phase of shock yet, I didn't know. Either way, I wasn't planning on disturbing him at all.

After changing back into my armour, I headed out of my room and into the main area of the inn, which was still thankfully more dimly lit than I would expect from a giant hearth fire. I assumed it was around early afternoon, as there were hardly any people inside, save one or two who were already quite lost to the world, staring into a bottle of mead.

I walked over to the far corner of the room and sat down at one of the tables that was pushed up against the wall, not wanting to be the target of attention from the enthusiastic innkeeper I'd met last night. Fortunately, she wasn't around at the present time. I was able to remain unnoticed, a skill I'd been perfecting since long before joining the Brotherhood. It was quite simple when the only people I was avoiding in the room were so blank that a dragon could have risen from the dead and burnt down everything outside, and still they wouldn't have a clue. Not that an event such as that was likely to happen any time soon, but my theory would still be correct if it did.

Not being particularly hungry yet, I was fine with just being still and allowing my brain to rest itself for a while before it was time to leave again. It was impossible to know exactly when that would be though; we still needed a plan to follow otherwise we'd be doing nothing but wandering aimlessly while running the risk of being detected by the wrong people until we came up with something. What was worse, I had to rely solely on Lucien to make that decision, putting me in an annoying dependent position whereby there was nowhere I could go unless he was with me.

After a while of sitting on my own, the strange uneasiness of quiet began to creep up on me: so little was happening around me that it made me believe in the opposite. I didn't know the faces of our trackers, nor did I know where they were, so that made anyone a threat to me. For all I knew, one of the people in here could be part of the Black Hand, spying already outside my knowledge. As unlikely as this was, my states of paranoia hadn't failed most times before. I turned away from both the front door on the wall behind me and the Nords who sat also on the tables along that wall, although I had already been hidden in the only corner of the room which the hearth fire's light failed to reach in full.

My ignorance was perfectly timed however, as the voice of the innkeeper sounded out, asking one of them if they were fine for food and drink. Amazingly, he was able to give an answer. An indecipherable slurred answer, but an answer none the less. I didn't hear whether she'd moved away, but now there were footsteps approaching my table, and I could just tell that this innkeeper was a person who wouldn't stop talking once she'd got an opportunity. If only I could think up an excuse quickly enough to escape from her.

"I don't think I got the chance to properly thank you yesterday," Lucien's gentle voice said from behind me - far more welcome than the person I had expected it to be.

I turned to see him leaning against one of the beams that supported the roof, arms folded over his chest, but in submission rather than defence. His voice was still minorly subdued because of tiredness, but strong enough for me to say that he was more than able to rebuild his confidence if given a little time. He still wore his usual black hooded robe, and I could wager that he'd probably fallen asleep wearing it also.

"You really don't have to," I continued, making contact with his now soft but haunted eyes. "I did what you told me to: I got the traitor's plans, and if I had found out any other way, I would have done the same."

"I don't doubt at all that you would," Lucien replied, as small smile creeping onto his face as he spoke, voice almost a murmur as he pulled all my attention to what he was about to say. "I instead wanted to thank you for making a decision about what to do about that on your own, rather than simply remaining passive in events."

His sincerity was so genuine, and his tone so appreciative, that he made me feel near-embarrassed, yet not at all self-conscious of that fact. A returning glimmer of depth in his eyes only made me look deeper into them for a moment as my attention was hooked and reeled in swiftly, before it was altogether his. The smile that I was so pleased to see again only tugged at my own, until I had to angle my face away from the light before he noticed my attempts at fighting back a far-too-happy looking smirk. Now it was starting to feel like normal.

"I would have thought anyone would," I remarked, trying to divert the central attention off of me.

"Unfortunately I don't believe they would," he answered with a pang of despair.

He stepped over to the bench where I sat as he talked, taking the free space beside me. Pleasant as he was being, it was obvious that there was more to say than greetings, and we both knew what it was.

"You read the journal, I take it?" I inquired, keeping my voice low but audible only to him. It was far more a conversation opener that a question. His expression dropped slightly, the light in his eyes travelling elsewhere at the book's mention. Slowly, he tilted his head forward in agreement.

"Yes. Yes, I read it," he replied darkly before his eyes darted back up to mine. "I also happen to know who is responsible for everything that's happened."

The subtle anger was shared in both of us, but for me I felt more anticipation than anything. I wanted in on this new information, and I wanted a name to put to our tracker. I needed a name to despise rather than just a voice outside the darkness of a crate. The more I knew, the more I was able to hate him; at the moment what I felt towards him was strong, but I simply needed to hear someone else's account.

Acknowledging this, Lucien continued in a hushed tone as we didn't want to fill the rest of the silent space with this conversation.

"His name is Mathieu Bellamont," he regarded with bitterness, "and I recruited him into the Dark Brotherhood five years ago. Not once did I suspect treachery. I only presumed he was ambitious, but he was imploding us right in my line of sight."

He sounded angry not just at Bellamont, but at himself as well.

"It's not your fault," I tried to assure him, placing a hand on his right arm that rested on the table. "No one could have known."

"But I am still the one who chose him for the position of Silencer," Lucien went on, my words not appearing to take effect. "If I had chosen anyone else, he would have been dead long ago."

I had a brief flashback of the Purification, as I took down each and every Family member without mercy or remorse. Lucien was right: even if somebody else there had been promoted, betrayal would still be linked to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, and I would have come face to face with the traitor himself before I ended his life.

I cut off the memory there. I had trained myself into seeing it as only a duty then, so now would be no exception: this was no time to dwell on any more phantoms of the past.

"I think he's known exactly how his plan would unfold since I mentioned you to the rest of the Black Hand, and that was just over a year ago now."

"But that was before I even met you," I replied after a moment of thought. "How did he even know I'd be out of prison for you to recruit me?"

Lucien gave a small but flattering smile in my direction. "I already told you how I admire you," he replied. Something flickered across his eyes in the millisecond long pause before he picked up his sentence again. "Your skills; your talent is almost unmatched among us now, as it was then. I may not have been subtle in expressing my...interest in that."

I felt an odd mix of gratitude and...disappointment, was it? I couldn't pinpoint exactly why that emotion flitted through my mind, nor could I say when I had noticed its presence. It would no doubt bug me from time to time though.

"So he knew that because he was out of Cheydinhal, he was in no danger of your orders against him?" I stated rather than asked. "What else did he know?"

"He knew far more than I would have expected about the workings of the Black Hand," Lucien answered, irritation flaring in his tone. "I should have at least suspected him when the treachery continued. Why I doubted you is beyond me."

"You're not getting anywhere by blaming yourself, Lucien," I continued asserively. "What's done is done, you can't change that. As for seeing me as suspect, I would have thought the same in your position."

Lucien slowly lifted his head to face me, hazel eyes finally brightening again with thankful recognition that I believed in him after all that had happened. I needed him to know that I was able to be trusted as much as I trusted him in his decisions.

Although, behind what I could see and shrouded amongst the returning colour, was the sore but now fading redness of past tears. I could only guess that the pure and utter terror had taken its toll last night as he read the journal. I wouldn't mention it, even if he knew I'd seen it: he didn't need to go through the bother of explaining himself to me.

"How long has he been in the Dark Brotherhood?" I questioned, wanting to get back to the main subject, keeping both our minds occupied.

"Just over five years," he replied, underlying gravel in his voice. "It was never my choice to recruit him in Cheydinhal, but the other Sanctuaries were full at the time. When he turned out to be far more ambitious than I expected, I believed to have made a bad first judgement."

"But then he betrayed us."

"Exactly," he stated, some sort of humour that he detected coming over his face. "I'm relieved my first impression of you was correct."

Another flattered smile tugged at one side of my mouth, though luckily not the side he could see.

"Do you know what to do about this yet, or where we're going from here?" I inquired a little over-specifically, but I was getting agitated by remaining in one place for too long, especially with the mention of Bellamont.

Lucien was silent for a long while, averting his gaze to the table top as he placed his chin on clasped hands. Either he wasn't sure of anything yet, or he had thought of something which he doubted also. I didn't want to pressure him, but I hoped dearly for the latter.

Eventually, he sighed in resolve before turning back to face me.

"It's not perfect, but it's the best possible solution for now," he continued, voice doubtful yet desperate for anything. "Before I joined the Dark Brotherhood, I used to take on some work from the Thieves' Guild in Riften, just so I had enough to live off of.

"After a job that went somewhat wrong about seven years ago, work began to slip from them, but I still have contacts there."

It was then my turn o fall silent as I made sense of the information I'd been given.

"You're saying we should hide out in the Thieves' Guild?" I worked out quickly, doubting the decision. "Riften is right near the Cyrodiil border: isn't that one of the first places the Black Hand would look?"

"They won't find us if we take our time getting there, but it's obvious they'll think of asking around," Lucien answered, his voice wavering as the possibility entered his mind. "Kerberos and Emily should be able to put them off though, if we get there at the same time."

I looked at him in confusion, willing him to elaborate on these previously unheard of names.

"They're with the Guild; two of the first people I met."

He looked over my still cynical expression, then met my eyes with a questioning gaze, silently interrogating my reasoning.

"Are you absolutely certain they can be trusted?" I finally asked with a confessional sigh. "They won't give away anything even if they're paid enough?"

I knew that was badly timed stereotype usage, but I had been made paranoid as it was, and those nerves only gave way to my own race's stereotypical trait: distrust.

I distanced my own gaze from him as I tucked one side of my hair behind my right ear in a self-conscious manner, expecting at least an amount of annoyance from Lucien, but there was no flicker of negativity that I could detect in his face, only a gradually sparking new thought.

"It is a risk: I'm not aware of what they believe happened seven years ago, but they did know I was by far more devoted to the Brotherhood. It was never an issue before then, but now..."

His voice trailed away as his eyes fell to the table once more, emerged in further doubts and ideas about this plan.

I wouldn't urge him to explain what did happen, but it seemed clear enough with elaborated details. Obviously, the work must have been very risky at best, so the Guild members involved may have requested trustworthy protection in the case that they were found out. That was where Lucien came in: if he was already taking on extra contracts from them anyway, I figured he would be the first person they would think of.

Almost every person in Tamriel knew of the Dark Brotherhood's actions and what we were capable of, but far less knew the majority of reasoning behind every kill. People still lived under the illusion that every victim of murder was innocent, that they once lived a perfectly good life, that they had never once committed something worse. This was most likely the assumption Lucien believed that the fellow Guild members had made.

He said that his last job went 'somewhat wrong'. I didn't think that he meant it hadn't succeeded, but rather that some members accompanying him had been 'lost'. Unfortunately, the Guild would believe that Lucien had had a hidden motivation to kill them off, and because of who he truly served, they would inevitably blame him for their deaths - hence the reason why he had received no further contact from them.

I didn't sense lying or dishonestly in his tone, only that he was sincerely remorseful of the real line of events that took place, feeling cheated yet again by people whom he'd trusted for so long turning their backs on him so quickly and easily, all for the same presumption: that he had betrayed them. He was just lucky they couldn't create any evidence to count it as the truth, and that their measures of dealing with that weren't quite as extreme.

"We have less of a risk there than another Sanctuary," he resumed after raising his head from his hands again. "If Bellamont has got word to Falkreath and Dawnstar, then even they will be keeping watch for us."

"There really isn't anywhere else?" I added in a last chance of lost hope, though I should have already known the answer to that.

"Nowhere that we wouldn't be found easily," he replied almost apologetically, eyes meeting mine again as he finished the sentence; this decision was the only one that had been worthy to voice, but it was hardly the best, even in his eyes.

I exhaled deeply and turned away from him to face the wood panelled wall in front of me, but not in irritation, rather in a sort of preparation before this was put into action. Now I was very aware of how he felt, as the thought of continual running was starting to take an effect on me as well.

"We can't take a direct route though; it would keep us too close to the Southern border," Lucien continued, going on with the idea now that he'd started. "The least obvious option would be to take the river's route North, then start to follow the road again. Eventually it leads through an almost uninhabited area - no-one will report seeing us."

"You don't think he's got any spies here already?"

"Even if he does, I'll be able to recognise them," he answered, a reassuring tone attempting to make me dismiss any doubts. "He would have told recruits from the two Sanctuaries, but there's a path through a mountain valley that will take us far from the gaze of both."

"How exactly is it that you know all this?" I eventually questioned, taken aback by the seemingly fluent knowledge he had of Skyrim; it was very fortunate though. "Haven't you always lived in Cyrodiil?"

Lucien smiled, though the reason for this was unclear. "I started out in Falkreath before being moved to head Cheydinhal. That's why I was appointed Speaker also," he explained with a tone of recollection before a solemn expression came over his face, his gaze distancing. "That seems so long ago now."

I remained simply a listener, as there was no response I was able to give to ease any thought of dread about the future, not when I'd never really been able to stop my own in the past, or even right at this moment. If he was aware of this, there was no way he'd think me so reliable.

Although, Lucien knew how to defend himself perfectly well, as did I, so perhaps we could rely on each other for back-up if it ever came to that.

We didn't speak again for what seemed to be an hour, but I imagined it was only a minute or less. I had to pretend that I was thoroughly interested in an empty metal tankard that sat on the table in front of me instead of wondering whether Lucien had gone into another mild state of shock. If he was silent for what I deemed too long, I'd interfere in his line of thoughts, but I knew that to get past something that was troubling, you had to have it enter your mind at some point or another instead of trying to dismiss it entirely; I would prefer it if he did that now rather than when we were on the road an it took him more by surprise than initiated himself.

"How long have you been in the Dark Brotherhood?" I asked as a continuing question.

"Twenty one years," he responded without much hesitation. "I first joined at seventeen, a year after I left High Rock."

A quick calculation of subconscious thought told me that he was thirty eight now, though why that fact seemed so prevalent to me wasn't making itself clear.

Consciously however, I chose not to acknowledge the fact that the end of his sentence trailed off again, like another remembrance of a bad event. I wouldn't pry for the reason now, but I was interested in why he joined the Brotherhood: he knew why I chose to accept the offer, and it was also his job to know about me, but there was surprisingly very little I was aware of about him.

It would make me feel better if I at least knew about some of his life instead of seeing him as too much of an enigmatic figure that I couldn't talk to him in an ordinary conversation. Not that I felt intimidated in any way, but it seemed as if the only subject raised was the Dark Brotherhood itself in the place of anything else, in spite of however perfectly Lucien was acting.

"Why do you ask?" he interrogated smoothly after letting a few seconds pass.

"Just curious," I replied, my voice volume decreasing with each syllable as I felt his gaze settling on me again, making me feel a little self-conscious even when there was no trace of condescension in his eyes or tone of voice.

I decided to carry on with the farce that the tankard on the table was ever so fascinating only so I didn't have to show him that the ability to act normally had escaped me once again. Although, in the corner of my eyes, it was visible that an amused half-smile had appeared on his face: he knew anyway, but chose not to acknowledge it directly.

I turned back to him a second later, about to ask why he was recruited, but stopped myself when the briskly approaching innkeeper could be seen making a beeline in our direction from across the room; the brown corset fastened tightly around her middle certainly an unnecessary addition to her outfit from earlier, considering she was already rather skinny as it was.

An annoyed expression must have been somewhat apparent on my face as I looked past Lucien, as his eyes shifted in one direction, concentrating on the sound of the footsteps that came closer and closer: it was time to feign any kind of pleasant emotion we could manage, given the circumstances of which she was unaware.

"You're both finally awake, huh?" she asked rhetorically as she got near the table, eyes only briefly acknowledging my existence before they flitted back to Lucien.

Irritation flared through me as she had the nerve to lean on the table with one hand, practically forcing us to end our conversation. Although, even when the issue was that she'd interrupted us, I couldn't help but realise that I harboured and repressed a feeling to immediately shove her away, especially as her head was tilted above but a little too dangerously close to Lucien's. I'd had the same instinct when we'd arrived here, but only now did it rise nearer to the surface.

But...exactly why it occurred was a different matter entirely. Whether it was that I was suspicious of everybody at the moment, or that the protection I felt had increased from yesterday's level, I had no idea. For now, I supposed I'd have to tolerate her presence, even when these feelings were screaming at me not to.

Lucien glanced up to face her - not that she was giving him much choice - as she began to talk again.

"You won't be leaving soon, will you?" she asked in exaggerated disappointment, emphasising the flick of some blonde hair that had fallen over one of her eyes.

"Actually," he began, his gaze rolling slowly up to meet hers, "we really do have to leave as soon as is necessary."

Although what she heard was a purely charming tone, I was picking up slight mockery woven amongst that; even the subtle emphasis on the word 'we' had tried to remind her that she was meant to be addressing two people. Verbally, Lucien was attempting to insinuate that she wasn't welcome to interfere in any way, although visually she was tricked into taking in that fact in the nicest possible way. Lucien seemed to have perfected his charming guise so much that any threatening phrase could be uttered, and still no-one would pay attention.

"We really would appreciate it if we were left alone for now, if you wouldn't mind," he sincerely ordered, making a suggestion sound imperative.

The innkeeper didn't look offended in the slightest, in fact, she appeared quite the binary opposite as an almost flirtatious smile spread widely across her face.

I, on the other hand, continued to watch both of them in utter confusion as all I'd learned about social skills was fragmenting in front of me.

"Oh, of course," she replied with a love struck style giggle. "You just find me if there's anything you need before then."

She stood up straight again, giving him one last glance before turning away; both walking and prancing back in the direction of the bar.

Lucien seemed rather unphased as he turned back to me, the strange spark of charm gone from his eyes, though even stranger was the fact that I knew that naturally it came through to his speech without effort - this almost left a little strain in his gaze.

Even so, I returned a more scornful glare than I intended, but it still managed to convey the same message of disapproval rather than anger.

"What was that?"

"Could you be more specific?" he stalled, appearing interested in my reaction.

"I don't need to be: you're perfectly aware of what I'm referring to," I answered, pushing down the negativity in my tone. "I just want to know exactly why it was necessary."

Lucien smiled again in a way that showed inside knowledge of something I didn't have. It was never smug, and he was never one to act superior if h didn't deem the information open enough to just reveal, but this time, shown clearly as I met his gaze again, he seemed able to share his reasoning.

"Illusion magic tends to come in particularly useful when unwanted attention is a risk," he explained calmly and casually. "Didn't you ever wonder why nobody in Chorrol came running to the sound of a sword fight?"

I had expected an answer that I would be objecting to, because although Lucien was someone I trusted completely, he was still a man. My mouth was half open as I had prepared to speak, but when the information became clear to me, I shut it and recoiled a little.

"I didn't really think to question that," I said, feeling that common sense had taken its leave then as well. "Did you use a Calm spell?"

Lucien nodded once. "I tried using it on you as well, when you were pointing a sword at me, of course," he went on reminiscently. "It didn't have much of an effect though; you were already resistant to my being there. It stalled your attack, but your attitude remained in the same state."

"You cast that spell on many people?" I responded, meaning for it to be a slight pun on his interactions. Thankfully, I received a small smile out of it.

"Only when necessary," he replied, his tone pleasantly aimed. "Unsurprisingly, you were a little more...assertive than others I've spoken to."

I couldn't be sure whether he meant it as a compliment or not. Lucien had always been ambiguous with most things he said, so it was hard to interpret exactly the message he was trying to put across. For argument's sake, I'd assume he meant it to be positive.

"I really don't know whether to say thank you to that."

"You don't have to," he half joked, a rather flattering smile appearing even before he spoke. "I would have be more worried if you didn't defend yourself."

Detailed conversation almost drowned around there, as responding logically to any positive comments intended for me had never been a strong trait of mine. Knowing already that I was being relied upon had managed to sink in well enough, but being aware of how highly I was thought of would only make me increasingly conscious of how I acted and what I said in his presence. Lucien wouldn't be judging me as such, but for me, I felt it nearly an obligation to continue to prove my worth to the person who had already believed me worthy of something, even before one sentence was uttered between us, before I even knew that he existed.

We spent no more than one hour at the small inn, by which time I had convinced Lucien that I would be paying for both food for the next couple of days at least, and food before we left: I had enough coin from each dead-drop contract - real and fake - to be able to. As I'd approached the counter/bar combination at the far side of the room, the innkeeper suddenly sprung up from behind it, still looking relatively trance-like with glassy eyes as newly curled additional ringlets bobbed rather manically by the sides of her face. Whether she had been twizzling her hair or stock checking was something I couldn't be bothered to even wonder about before asking for the amount of supplies we needed.  
She turned to a storage cupboard in a dark corner of the room, and based on the size of it I was surprised I hadn't noticed its existence. She then began to take some things out, most of them wrapped up in cloths, and proceeded to shove it all into a bag that appeared to have materialised from thin air; frankly, the bag capacity looked too small to me for everything to fit in there unscathed.

Somehow, I doubted she would have given up so much stock in there so easily if Lucien hadn't been so masterful over Illusion spells, and I guessed he was still casting something right at that moment.

As a Dunmer, I really should have been able to sense magical auras when spells were cast, but it had always been much easier to act ignorant, to pretend I hadn't known or distracted by something else instead of admit that magic did not come easily to me, nor that I had never competently been able to cast anything. As a Dunmer, I valued my pride too highly to confess that to anyone but myself.

Although, I couldn't help but also admit that Illusion magic had always been something I wished I could succeed in, ever since learning that it included the skill to become invisible. I'd always thought that it could be a very useful tool for manipulation of some kind - Lucien had proved that enough - but for what I'd never worked out.

One member of my family, one who hadn't lived with us, was so skilled that the last I'd heard he was in the process of writing his own spell tomes and a guide on potion making, but that had been years ago, and I could only remember meeting him once or twice when I was still very small, before my father died. My uncle Velms was also the reason why we had had so many books in our house, seeing he worked in the Library of Vivec, and apparently, there were a lot of spare copies that they didn't need.

I realised then, accompanied by an extremely strange mix of emotions that it was the first time since the attack that I had been able to recollect any aspect of my 'old' life without the sudden repulsion of what I had finally witnessed when the Nords left. Even just knowing this, with the very notion of it present somewhere in my chain links of thought, I was able to disconnect it temporarily, and for once was not sent metaphorically screaming from my own mind.

Wait...did my uncle even know what had happened yet? I assumed so: people knew we were family, but we had lived so far away from one another, on the two different parts of Morrowind in fact: Vvardenfell and the mainland. Red Mountain's eruption some years ago would inevitably delay any message sending, with Vvardenfell obviously being the worst affected area. The city of Vivec though, on the Southern coast, was surrounded by such ancient magic that I knew he would still be there. Any couriers from the mainland however, would not be so willing to enter.

One day, when current situations were resolved, I might return there to confirm the news to him, or report it myself. Either way, he was family, and I would have to see him again, no matter how painful a reminder that would be for us both.

The sound of a heavy object being dropped on the counter in front of me - a sound that would not shock if I had been paying any attention to the present - snapped me back into reality, which, by reminding myself what was happening, was not the most welcoming place as my sight began to focus again.

By my judgement, the price that the innkeeper came up with foe everything was far less than even the charity price Talasma had offered me for a smaller amount of goods before I had left Chorrol.

That was the most unexpected memory by a long run. It was over a year ago, but perhaps after so much absorbing the day before, my memory bank was having an independent rearrangement to fit it in.

Or perhaps I was just too tired to control what came to the forefront of my mind, small and seemingly insignificant as it may have been.

So I paid the miniscule amount - not that I was complaining - to the woman who now looked as though she was a very enthusiastic priestess of Mara, whose eyes couldn't decide whether they should be focused on either me or the view behind me, and at long last turned away from her. As I did, I finally allowed the false pleasantness I was forced to put on as social etiquette and nothing more, to release its pinching hold on my usually rather neutral expression, as it did on every occasion I talked to an innkeeper or shop owner.

It wasn't that I believed them below me, nor did it mean I was simply just a negative individual, both of which were common stereotypes of the Dark Elves. It was just that when I willingly wanted to be friendly or, at the least, nice, I preferred authenticity over the unwritten laws of society about what I should and shouldn't do. Nevertheless, I wouldn't gain favour from anyone if I never even marginally stuck to what was expected.

Imagine, if nobody stick to these rules, we'd all kill for justice; criminals and wrong-doers would actually get what they deserved instead of the victim having to remain silent while being forced to allow the guards to 'investigate' the matter. Society's authority could never have that. Those incompetent city guards would be out of a job, and the illusion of control would be broken forever.

Lucien happened to shift his gaze in my direction as I subconsciously rolled my eyes in exasperation of having to be sociable with someone I wanted to shove down her own cellar stairs. Yes, even though she wasn't completely willingly trying to irritate me, she was still the one who had initiated conversation in the first place, therefore imaginary violence was still being aimed in her direction.

Quickly, as though I hadn't seen his expression, he turned his face down and tried to stifle another amused smile as I approached the table.

A little earlier, not fifteen minutes ago, we'd had the terrible misfortune to become thirsty, and almost simultaneously as this thought occurred, you'd never guess who came skipping over to ask about drinks. I doubted that was a spell of any kind: Lucien looked just as taken aback when she appeared as I did. After she'd brought over the drinks and scampered off again, I'd had exactly the same reaction.

I'd already been anxious to leave Helgen as soon as possible, but she was confirming that decision more and more by the second.

I pushed the entire bag over to him after fishing out something for myself. I wasn't too hungry, though I would be later, but he still needed food. It was disturbing for me to have to see him so contrasted to the predominant memories of him in the past.

"Eat something," I suggestively ordered, tearing a piece of bread from the relatively tough loaf I held.

"What's the sudden rush?" he asked almost sarcastically.

"No apparent reason," I replied without facing him; there were many reasons, but there was hardly any point of discussing them. We both knew, and had to act on them.

* * *

The soft yet glaring amber light was the only thing that dominated my vision as I emerged from the warmly lit inn about twenty minutes later. I had expected an overcast sky to bring the coldest weather, but apparently the irony of sunlight as well as a freezing wind scratching over my skin was the normality for this province. I was even wondering whether this temperature was counted as warm by the local Nords, as the few that were wandering the vaguely visible paths around the town were wearing short sleeves and seemingly thinner material than I would have expected.

After temporary blindness had passed away, Helgen was clearly visible to me in the cold light of day. Wooden foundations and stone walls were the main building material that the houses were made of, the only non-pine wood structures in the walled in area being a watchtower directly in front of the inn, the tattered flag rippling slowly in the breeze; the white stag's head emblem on it raised proudly as their symbol.

Mulling lazily around the foot of the tower were a few town guards, their full-face helmets and chainmail cuirasses readying them for an assault that would never come, but luckily they paid us no attention.

There was no real reason why either Lucien or I would attract any immediate suspicion, but I was relieved all the same.

On the opposite side of the town were the stables where we had left Shadowmere, but my automatic feeling of apathy came into play as it became clear that I needed to brave the harsh elements to get to her. Eventually, I pushed myself off of the porch area to the large dry soil patch below the stairs, caused by travellers and their horses' trampling of the ground as they passed through this seemingly insignificant town.

According to the position of the sun, it was mid-afternoon, probably around four o'clock. If Lucien was correct about timing, then the last place of civilisation before the mountain path was a city called Whiterun, which we'd reach just before nightfall if we were able to get there in two hours.

Obviously we couldn't stay in the city: it was a central location in the province. Anyone from anywhere would choose it on their travels or exploring. When continuing on from there, if asked by anyone searching for us, there'd be a much higher chance of at least one of them recalling who we were correctly. If there was anywhere we could find to stop under the cover of dark then it would work out perfectly. If not, we'd have to risk replicating our trackers' search patterns: if I was searching for someone who wanted to stay hidden, I'd be searching at night, when they were less aware. Both Lucien and I thought that not moving around while they searched would be the best option, as they would hardly expect to look in a static location for us.

After attaching some supplies to Shadowmere's saddle - this action causing a bemused and fearful expression to come across the stable hand's face as she acted perfectly gentle in contrast to a bite mark that had somehow appeared on his lower arm overnight - we set off again, at a walking pace this time.

An archway in the Northern stone wall of Helgen led us out again onto a winding dust path, a light brown ribbon that wove itself in between a stretch of dull green pine trees that bordered the foot of the rising cliff that sheltered the town from the fierce snow storms of County Bruma.

The pathway continued as one branch for a long time, long enough for the flapping of the Helgen flag's sound to become simple whistle in the wind's path. Eventually, there came a fork in the pathway, and over Lucien's shoulder I could see a signpost, weathered and tilted to one side; the left side stating in that direction were Falkreath, Rorikstead and Markarth. The right told us of Riverwood and Whiterun. Clearly, Shadowmere was turned right, through the rest of the forest infested valley instead of the dwindling edges of it that led on to a rocky and somewhat plain Western passageway elsewhere.

* * *

Lucien's time predictions were highly accurate, as when we descended the path from the small village of Riverwood, where there seemed to be nothing but a few house, shop and a mill - much like Helgen with no security of a wall - the sun was just about dipping below the horizon line, giving way to fuchsia tinted grey clouds which scattered over the sky like smoke that rose from a campfire in an open area of a strong breeze.

Past a couple of farms spread across the darkening grass plain was Whiterun, a proud city that had been built up on the natural slope of a hill. Its stone wall was high enough to shield the lower level of buildings from my view, but what I could see, high above everything with a spired roof that could scratch the sky, was a magnificent palace; golden in the dying light like a beacon of hope in the middle of nowhere.

While I was near-gaping in awe of such a place, I hadn't realised that Lucien had pulled Shadowmere to a halt at the final edge of the pine forest, his gaze also fixed on the city.

"It's quite a sight," he sighed in declaration.

"Really is," I responded after a second, content with just taking in the view until a sudden gust of cold air from the direction of the snow covered mountain not far behind us reminded me that I was still freezing.

I let out a small shiver, sucking in breath from the shock of it.

"How cold are you?" Lucien asked, immediate concern in his tone as he turned his head a little to address me.

"I'm not exactly used to this," I replied, my voice importing a frustrated tone because I was trying to keep back any other signs that this awful weather was making me uncomfortable: there was far more to complain about than just that. "You got any ideas about where we're going yet?"

"Nowhere yet," he answered after facing forwards again towards Whiterun. I knew his eyes were scanning over the area in deep thought, contemplating any vague possibilities of locations that came to him. "Nowhere I can see anyway."

He spurred Shadowmere forward to a paced walk bordering on a trot, so that we moved down the slight gradient of the path. Lucien's focus appeared to be on the ledges of the mountainside on the other side of the river flowing parallel to us.

As I still longed for the comfortable residence of a city inn, I hadn't realised we'd come to a halt. While Shadowmere was breathing in the unfamiliar air with her head turned to the now peach sky, Lucien was instead fixed on the top of a green slope on the cliffside; opposite to us on the other side of a stone cobbled bridge across the river. His interest had been peaked by what I could make out as some sort of cave, even in the day's fading light. As much as that would be an awful contrast to the city view from up there, I supposed that this really was it, based on the short notice of daylight hours up North.

"It was being used as a mine location until a year ago," he commented casually, aware that my attention had been gained. "But there wasn't a lot they could find in there, so it shut down."

"So there's no one up there now?" I inquired, not bothering to question how he new so much contextual information about such an insignificant place: I was just happy he could navigate our route.

"I don't know," he went on with caution. "Who knows whether bandits have moved in there?"

"Lucien, we kill people for a living, and you're concerned about a few pesky caravan looters who may or may not be there?" I mocked in what I could muster as an upbeat tone. It just seemed ironic that that was the one trouble in his head at the present time.

He leaned back a little, then turned his head almost fully towards me. He smiled with the humour of what I'd said, but the small ember of normality that entered his dark eyes was being dragged down as quickly as it had finally surfaced. To be completely fair, we had just travelled six or seven miles in nearly pure silence. We may both have been exhausted, but it was still a long time to dwell on things, and there was no doubt what that could be.

"You make a good point," he replied with subtle flirtation in his tone. That seemed so regular to me now that I wondered if it was ever deliberate.

His eyes made fast contact with my own, flickering ambiguously over my face before turning to the front again. Just a lingering glance was enough from him to try to force a pathetic grin - as he had succeeded in doing so on more than one occasion - though I was able to keep it hidden instead of holding it back this time, which usually made me look even more pathetic.

It couldn't be denied that Lucien was - to put it subjectively and simply - often distractingly beautiful. Any one of his smiles could not be competed with, and what's more, he was a master of controlling it, even when the situation did not need it. In the same effect of his voice, just a smile or simple movement of his eyes could manipulate any mood I was in to change, though to what could not be explained. It wasn't a big deal, because I had grown used to it, but it affected me all the same despite this.

* * *

"Can I ask you something?" I said somewhat suddenly after a long period of dead quiet.

Lucien peered up from the other side of the small campfire he had managed to start about an hour ago, the distance in his eyes immediately being pushed aside as I addressed him. He didn't seem willing enough to return a smile, but the interest that sparked in his gaze assured me that he was willing enough to answer.

"You don't have to obtain my permission to allow you to ask me something," he replied, his voice dry sounding from the escape of silence.

I was just relieved to hear him speak. When we'd finally got up to the cave, we searched it to find that it was abandoned, which was clearly to our advantage. There were no tools or fresh food around to tell us that anybody was coming back.

The last thing I'd heard from him was the least authoritative sounding order I had been given by him to find - as in steal - some meat from one of the farms below. Apparently, some was often left outside at night as there was hardly any storage space inside the tiny farmhouses. There had been two along the road nearby, and supplies weren't hard to take away without being noticed.

I got back just fifteen minutes later, but just in that short time, the brightness had deserted the once vivid sky to darkness, not even the starlight able to penetrate the thick layer of cloud that had formed. Thankfully, I found a campfire already burning as I reached the ledge outside the cave's entrance; there had been quite a large pile of firewood left behind, as well as other cooking materials, so we hadn't believed our luck.

Instantly the welcoming warmth was blown in my direction as I sat down beside the fire, but as I looked over at Lucien opposite me, he didn't look like he was feeling any of it. There was only ice and anxiety in his downward facing trance.

He held the traitor's journal open in front of him, re-reading it from start to finish twice in the time since I arrived back, only stopping to eat, but even then he hadn't spoken, only smiled and met my gaze in acknowledgement.

As he continued to stare down at the journal, even when closed, I was reminded again of why I wanted to ask him about it. So, I'd finally broken the silence to get an answer to my questions.

"It's about Bellamont's mother," I began anxiously, not knowing what reaction I'd be provoking, and also because I was worrying that his reasoning would not be what I expected of him. But I supposed there was only one way to find out.

Lucien flinched at the mention of the traitor's name, but more in recollection of anger than anything else. "You want to know why she was killed?"

"Well...yes," I replied, deciding I was going to tread carefully around the words I chose. "What did she do that was so bad?"

He didn't seem as though he was hesitant to answer, rather that he was thinking of a way to go about it.

This was probably due to an underlying - but not intentional - anger in my tone, specifically in the second sentence. I was not angry at him, not yet at least, and I trusted that there was justifiable reasoning behind what happened. But, in my head, there was only the experience of my own. In no way did that need to have happened to my own family. What those Nords had done was unforgivable, and anyone would say the same...including Lucien.

He'd made it clear long ago that their methods were despicable, with no reason behind it but dominance, prejudice and a need to control. I was angry at my own experiences instead of his actions; angry at no reason over an unknown one. Until that had been revealed, I would try to keep this emotion to a minimum.

"Elenar, I truly don't know what you're thinking about this," he continued, voice calm and controlled, "but I assure you now that it was nothing that was not deserved."

I didn't know how much of a pause there would be before he began explaining, but I hadn't realised how much anticipation I had felt about it until now. Something given away in my expression must have urged him to go on, because he took a breath that told me he was ready to speak.

"Just over nineteen years ago, there was another betrayer in the Brotherhood," he stated, and immediately I saw where this was going.

"You're saying Bellamont's mother was a member of the Dark Brotherhood?" I exclaimed, shocked with absolute irony.

"Both of his parents were; it's where they met, in fact," he replied, his voice grave and his eyes distant. "She was not a traitor for any reason that her son has, but it was just as unforgivable."

"Did he - our traitor - know who his parents really were?"

"Not in the slightest," Lucien answered. "But his father had worked out what his wife was doing before anyone else did. Nobody suspected her of treachery."

"Then what did she do?" I interjected, needing to be let in on whatever he knew about this. We were in it together, after all.

Lucien, despite the subject matter, smiled at my outburst. "If your assertiveness - in spite of my approval of it - would wait a little longer, I might be able to tell you."

There was no sarcasm, no spite in his tone, but rather just a joke of so many of my responses in the past. It may have been true that I could be slightly...impatient when it came to people's explanations, even when I knew time was required for it. I just wished all could be said without any back story sometimes, but of course, that could never be the case for anything.

"Alright," I answered to both myself and Lucien, rolling my eyes at my own response. "Sorry - do continue."

His smile remained until his gaze dropped momentarily, before he reminded himself to carry on.

"She broke the second Tenet excessively - to never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets," he continued with bitterness. "She wanted us wiped out, though for what reasons was never revealed to me, and so began to give information to guards regarding Sanctuary locations.

"When the Sanctuaries she knew of in High Rock were under threat, she gained the trust of the former Imperial Legion commander - "

"Phillida," I interrupted again, finishing his sentence with anger.

Lucien nodded once, then picked up where he left off. "He was already strongly against us - but again, I'm not sure exactly why - so took her information as welcome. Since then, he decided to make the Brotherhood's work a constant risk of losing Family members.

"But, by the time a few locations had been found - just one in most provinces - her husband somehow became aware of what was happening. He couldn't take revenge himself, nor could he report it to their own Sanctuary in Wayrest: it would have been something she was perfectly prepared for."

"But why didn't he just kill Adamus Phillida himself?" I responded, confused by the decision that had been made. "It would have simplified my own hunting him down."

"Useful as that would have been," Lucien replied gently, "the disadvantage would be attention. He couldn't risk being discovered by her in such an obvious way.

"The Black Sacrament was his only way to stop her. The Night Mother was obviously aware of the situation, so the contract was sent to the next nearest province where no Sanctuary had been found."

Obviously, that would have been Skyrim, based on what he had told me back in Helgen.

"Our Speaker went to High Rock for the details of the contract, and then returned with the news two days later," he resumed, his expression clear that he was reliving the events in his mind. "We were all in shock over what we were hearing, but one of us had to deal with it.

"I was always convinced that the Speaker had chosen me because I had been there for the least amount of time; I was more expendable than anyone else. He thought that since we were losing so many members that none of the best were going to be lost again. Either way, I proved him wrong."

"Did you know Bellamont was there before - ?" I prompted, deliberately trailing off to allow him to cut in. Thankfully, he did.

"I had no idea," Lucien answered, an unfathomable depth in his gaze. "She knew something was wrong when her husband ran away; wrong in itself to leave a child to wait with a target."

"I take it she knew someone was coming?" I stated more than questioned, keeping my voice as calm as possible to reel in his attention again.

"Oh yes, she knew," he replied after an inhale of breath, shutting off the emotional side of the memory. "By the time I worked my way inside the house and found the room she was in, she was already prepared.

"I had planned a stealth kill, however hard that could have been against another assassin who was more highly trained than myself, but I had no other choice than to simply lash out before she could."

He didn't sound particularly proud of it. I couldn't tell whether it had happened as a result of just the reputation of the group, but after every contract I had taken, there was always a certain type of confidence that took over me.

With this, there was no way to tell if Lucien was just disappointed with how the job had gone, or whether there was some context that I was unaware of. What if he'd only been told there was a child in the house after he'd arrived back in Skyrim? If that was the case, then I assumed he'd be sympathetic: he had said that he'd left High Rock when he was younger, so I only presumed it was because he had no family anywhere else but the ones who had been there.

"Lucien?" I prompted in slight concern, seeing as he had been silent and still for at least half a minute gazing at the gradually shrinking flames throwing sparks up to the sky.

He raised his head in response, immediately meeting my eyes as the present swept over him again. For a moment his face appeared deadly serious, but looking over my own anxious expression, he broke out a very contradictory smile based on what he had just told me.

"What is it?" I asked, confused.

"You don't need to sympathise," he replied in a muted tone. "It's not a duty."

"Why not?" I answered, taken aback by that imperative. "Of course I'm going to care about what you're telling me. If I had thought you didn't deserve my sympathy then I would never have suggested leaving Cyrodiil, in spite of your innocence in the matter."

Lucien's smile had slowly retreated as I spoke, replaced by a high level of intrigue in his brightening eyes, contrasted under the shifting shadow of his black hood in the firelight.

I could have ceased talking right there, but something in me had been untied, freed of restraint, refusing to let any thought to take control over most of the things that followed.

"I asked you about it because I do care," I went on. "You're the only person I've been able to properly trust in all of this, so yes, I do sympathise.

"I'll willingly fight through anything to keep both you and the Dark Brotherhood protected, even if that puts my own life at risk," I raised a hand as he opened his mouth to protest, cutting his short lived rebellion even shorter. "You're the one who gave me this new life, and I don't see enything wrong in dying for that."

Well, I was impressed with myself. Despite my being unaware that I truly cared that much, somehow the words had escaped my mouth. But I liked what I had said, not like any other time when anything else I responded with without preparatory thinking cae out as either nonsense or insults not meant to be heard. This time I had spoken my (somewhat unconscious) mind, and had received not one disapproving glare in my direction.

Lucien's gaze had intensified, now deeply full of realisation and intent, looking as though a translucent veil had been pulled from his eyes' surface; the true depth finally visible again and clear as a cloudless sky.

He was successful in putting a near-unbreakable padlock in his direct line of sight, subtly and immediately dragging my own into it, until my gaze had been trapped in unawareness of the strength in just his eyes - or would that be in sudden lack of remembrance? We both remained in this state for a few seconds, before Lucien eventually responded to my small revelation.

"Same here," he said, voice just louder than a whisper, as though the words had struggled to force themselves out of his already dry throat. But sounded out they had.

Now it was my turn for realisation: I would never had expected that answer, not even when I should have. Lucien I thought, had the expectancy of myself as his protector, but now saying in simply two words that he was just as willing to do the same was almost a little overwhelming for me to take in. Although, the fact that I was even willing to do that was more so.

What I was saying was this: I had merely assumed him to be almost unattached from what I did, seeing as he didn't give me orders directly. But somehow, he had told me that if it came to it, he would protect me to the death. Of course, he meant the Dark Brotherhood as a whole as well, but his eyes were not acknowledging that. I knew that I'd said the same thing not a minute ago, but this sounded far different to what I had meant, despite just two monosyllabic words from him being the source. Of course, I could be interpreting it all wrong...but for once, that - dare I say it - beautiful gaze was holding something other than just natural charismaticism.

He looked as though he was going to say something more, just for a moment, but instead his gaze diverted, eyes focused now on the ridge just below us where Shadowmere had been sleeping soundlessly all evening. She was almost fully masked within the darkness, save for a few flickers of orange glow reflecting off of her sleek black coat. Obviously, Lucien was only choosing to take interest in her sleeping form now because of something else being repressed in his mind. I knew: I'd used the same trick often before.

Anyone else would have pried, questioned and questioned until irritation from the other party gave over, which in turn would ultimately dismiss whatever was first intended to be said. I decided against this option. Lucien's personality was so like my own sometimes that I already knew what he would do with this unspoken information: it would be stored until he thought of another time worthy of sharing it, however long that could be.

"I'll take watch tonight," Lucien suddenly concluded, not turning back to me until the sentence was finished. His eyes were still bright, but the emotion from before had faltered ever so slightly; depth still present, even when they were purposefully half-full.

"You sure?" I asked, acting as though I hadn't been affected in the slightest. "Shouldn't you be the one to get some sleep?"

He stifled a weak laugh. "You say that like you don't need to."

No spells there, just my realisation of how lethargic I really was: the way it always worked when something was mentioned that I was trying to ignore.

"Of course I'll sleep. It's just - "

"Listen," he interrupted softly, "you can fight sleep tomorrow if you want, but for now you've already done enough. I...wouldn't be here if not for you."

The hesitation in his voice told me that what he was saying had been held back; I wondered whether that was all he had wanted to tell me. It wasn't hard, but to Lucien, it meant two different things, and I also predicted that gratitude for having his life saved was not something that was ever going to come very naturally.

I smiled in appreciation over the soon to be dead fire, my eyes flitting to his and the charring firewood inside the stone circle in front of me. I didn't need to say that I had no words to respond with, because it was already clear that I wasn't going to reply. Thank Sithis that Lucien wasn't someone who demanded a structured conversation, fillers, hesitations and all in the place of silence.

There was nothing else to say at that point, so I slowly hauled myself to my feet before turning back to him.

"Have fun," I told him sarcastically as I started towards the cave entrance.

"Oh, it's guaranteed," he answered in an equally ironic tone, so brilliantly performed that it could have been funny, if of course it was just a performance.

His small smile lingered with his gaze's relentless observance. Even when I turned away did I know it was still on me as I walked away from him; even if it wasn't every one of my steps, I was still enough to be aware of. But again, I couldn't quite grasp what was meant by it: far too mixed in feeling to pinpoint any one specifically.

Either way, what I did know was that he was happy of my being here, and that was enough to decipher for one night. Whether I would be risking what I knew as normal by directly asking him about it one day was a different matter altogether.

* * *

**For any experts of Morrowind, you may have worked out that Elenar's second name is Sadryon, as her uncle is now Velms Sadryon, the rather insignificant guy that wanders around the Temple of Vivec (and also helps out in one related quest to do with curing a Skooma addict). I chose him because I was scrolling through the ancestral tomb names on UESP wiki, and I thought that Elenar having at least one known relative would be quite interesting...and perhaps significant in the future...**

**I hope you like this so far, and I assure you, I'm nowhere near halfway yet - I even have a seven page summary in my notebook...this chapter is only on the bottom of the first one ;)**

**By the way, this will probably be the last chapter for a while, as I'm revising for a Media Studies retake exam. If Chapter 6 does appear in the next month, then I obviously had free lessons where I couldn't be bothered to do anything else ;)**


	6. Ch 6: Shadow of the Moon

**OC reference today: a Dunmer called Lhunara; a friend's Skyrim character who's quite handy with a crossbow and a thorough interrogator.**

**Chapter title: _Shadow of the Moon _is a song by Blackmore's Night. I finished the chapter while listening to it and realised I'd already made a reference. Feel free to look it up, since it is quite relevant to a character mentioned later on.**

**Yep, finally finished it. Apologies for it not being the most exciting chapter of them all, but trust me, everything's relevant: but '_everything happens for a reason.'_ I can't be a Lostie for six years and _never _quote it here ^^**

**You'll find out almost as much as Lucien _would_ be willing to tell you about his past, since it's never explained in-game. I figured that his 'Rufio reaction' deserved to be explored...**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**Shadow of the Moon**

What time of day it was when I awoke was unclear; the new snow-laden entrance of the cave made every stream of light reflect in full spectrum as I opened my eyes, which only made me more bleary than I would be usually.

For a moment I had almost forgotten where I was, but the immediate draught of cold air that rushed through the luminescent passageway from outside soon reminded me. Despite having cocoon wrapped myself in the blanket Lucien had brought, I still felt uncomfortably numb as the first light of day flooded my vision.

I'd had time last night to sort through the information I had been given, and my final conclusion was that of anger and injustice that another member of that family had been overlooked when considered to be a new Brotherhood recruit. That wasn't Lucien's fault: he had assured me that it had never been his decision to make. Just because someone else had been blind to history shouldn't have meant that there could be no further debate about him. It was like letting a wolf into an animal farm despite knowing that it was bound to get hungry at some point – no good would come of it.

If the aforementioned wolf came from the same den as another who had slaughtered a group of chickens at the same farm, I would definitely have something to say about its certain lack of entry requirements. And now it _was _in, it had to be dealt with before every bit of value strived for was lost to one single predator; I should know – I'd been quite the expert at warding off a few literal wolves in Morrowind.

With the relentless rays of the sun refusing to let me go back to sleep, I figured there was no point in trying. I pushed myself up to a sitting position with stiff arms, the dull aching caused by the cold breeze. I groaned – as per usual – with the prospect of having to switch on for the day and start moving. Not that I minded sometimes, when travelling Cyrodiil, because that at least had weather which was bearable in the majority of the province. Skyrim however, was a different story: harsh, bitter and merciless, almost like the only residents I'd had contact with.

After pulling on my boots, I stood up with great effort; feeling light-headed at first, but soon relieved that it passed quickly, only resulting as I turned away from the glaring beams to the dark forest green tint of the further depths of the cave to my left. Chances were that the inside was colder because the walls were moist with condensation so, with somewhat hesitation, I forced myself off of the rock I leant against and towards the exit.

I stepped outside onto the wooden rampart that had been built on the cliff ledge as a lookout post, and became engulfed in the immediate burst of white that greeted me past the guard of shadow. After it faded into focus, the view that dissolved in its place was by far worth emerging from hibernation for.

The plain of Whiterun was spread out below me, so flawless looking as if it were an emerald cloth thrown uncreased over a dining table, or used instead as a play mat where miniature houses were set out. So small did the buildings appear, it only looked to me as though it was a giant toy town, every building and level of the city visible from a bird's eye view; tiny dolls of people going about their day on invisible puppeteer's strings.

The picturesque backdrop of icy blue mountains to this scene set it all into reality as opposed to a figment of imagination with make-shift characters. They looked the only real objects in sight, as the uneven mountain range would not be something created in an ideal world.

I then realised, with odd delay that the temperature was more satisfactorily bearable than I had first anticipated it to be. I supposed that because warm air rose, Lucien and I were at an advantage to Skyrim's actual citizens.

Speaking of which, where was Lucien?

I had assumed he'd be up on this ledge, but perhaps he'd moved down one where there was more shade from the near-mangled trees that somehow managed to grow on the mountainside. As I moved forward lethargically to the edge of the platform, looking down on the lower ledge where Shadowmere was already grazing on tufts of grass at its edges, I spotted him just below, still asleep on his side.

He'd been cut from my sight for no more than a few seconds and still I had felt the rising of panic from the pit of my stomach. This was not because I thought that I would be alone, but rather that I thought he would be gone. Similar as those two ideas sounded, they were by no means the same. I hadn't allowed an in-depth analysis of the feeling as it came to my head; it was automatic, and seemed perfectly normal, even though I couldn't explain what it was that gave me that sudden fear. It was familiar, and it acted like a comfortable resident in my mind, but where it lived exactly was hard to tell.

Shadowmere perked up as I went down to the lower ledge, though this only included lifting her head in my direction with pricked ears before snorting and turning her attention back to the grass, which was obviously more important to her. I supposed that was her morning greeting over.

As I stepped towards her (just because she was finished being pleasant, it didn't mean I was going to give up that easily; her soft muzzle was just too irresistible) I heard Lucien stir when I passed him. That was the very definition of a light sleeper: I was using the most quiet footfalls I could manage, and I believed that In was rather good at staying silent.

Shadowmere's head rose as she turned to him, hearing him wake before I did, but was far more interested in her breakfast than either of us. I reacted to her, and so turned my own head to him, keeping one hand on Shadowmere's long, already tangled mane, stroking it subconsciously in a cycle as I always did.

Lucien met my eyes with short-lived relief – I saw his hand already over the hilt of the silver shortsword that lay beside him – as he rose in a surprisingly alert way for what seemed so early in the morning.

I gave him a small smile in a response of reassurance before he exhaled deeply with a release of tension. It was understandable that he was on edge if he'd been woken up by sensing someone nearby, but I sincerely hoped that this wouldn't happen every time something moved.

He raked back with one hand what I had first assumed to be the hood from his robe, but in fact, it was thick and partly waved ebony hair that came to a full length of about an inch past his shoulder. He picked up what I saw as a fabric strip with the other hand, and then slicked the rest of it back easily before tying it into ponytail behind him.

"You gave me a horrible thought that you were someone else," Lucien said with a lethargic sigh, leaning forward and resting an arm on one bent leg that he pulled up in front of him.

I, on the other hand, was still a little more intrigued by the fact that there was actually a whole face under that relentlessly worn hood, not to mention such long hair.

It was quite an unfortunate coincidence that men who happened to have longer hair than my own ended up – in my eyes – as more attractive than they may or may not have been. Lucien was now officially a 'destractive' force of nature. It seemed strange that I was probably the only person in Tamriel that was trying to avoid the fact that he was irritatingly perfect all the time.

"I didn't picture you with ponytail length hair," I replied a little absent-mindedly, successfully managing to fight back a full-blown stereotypical grin, yet failing to do the same for my fragmenting voice.

I could admit that it was a little off subject, but it came out of my mouth all the same.

Lucien paused, confused I guessed, while I felt rather awkward just being there. He looked deeply into my embarrassed eyes before an amused smile appeared on his face and averting his gaze.

"I probably would never have pinned you as the live-in-a-farmhouse type," he redirected, consoling my expression that could tell anyone that I wanted to sink into the ground.

"I never used to be," I answered, approaching him as I spoke; voice calming down from its previous fluttering. "It was just sort of pushed on me I suppose."

I slid down the higher ledge's side to the ground as I reached the foot of the second blanket – it was thinner, and had been rolled up inside the first – that he was on, still watching like a hawk as I had come towards him. He seemed intrigued by one of the most mundane things I had ever mentioned.

"How so?" he suddenly asked, genuinely interested as he leaned forward slightly.

His eyes, though always intense when he spoke directly, appeared more so now that the hood wasn't partially shielding them.

"Um," I began just brilliantly, a little stuck on what exactly to explain, "We used to live in a town on the mainland until I was seventeen, before we couldn't keep the house any more."

I could have stopped there, but my mind was delving ever deeper now.

"Both my parents had jobs in the town," I continued. "Not exactly high-paying jobs, but still jobs that kept us all afloat; there weren't many available so it was the best that was left.

"There were five of us, so considering that, we needed the money."

Dark Elves weren't the best race for the ability to populate. We lived a damned long time, but even in so long as 500 years, nothing could happen concerning that. Children in Morrowind were almost a tourist spectacle to everyone. Well, everyone excluding me.

Okay, bad as it was that one day our race could just dwindle out of existence, I was still rather repulsed by children. If something does not understand one word of what you are saying, my advice would be to avoid it entirely, which is why I preferred animals like dogs and horses. At least they didn't stare at me gormlessly when I spoke to them.

"My father died six moths before that," I went on as my voice gradually muted. "Winter was just too much that year, I suppose."

Lucien went to respond, probably to say 'I'm sorry', or something along those lines. But I couldn't be bothered to deal with that again, not after the amount of it I had received on the year it had actually happened. I was the youngest, so people assumed I'd be the worst affected. I wouldn't know: none of us really talked about what we felt to one another.

"Money started to run low then," I explained, keeping my tone casual. "My brother – the oldest – tried to find someone to work for, while my sister had to keep an eye on me during the day. She's the one who taught me everything to do with combat."

"How did you end up moving to the farm?" Lucien questioned again, accepting that there was no need to go any more in depth to the time era I was talking about.

"My grandparents – my mother's parents – left it to us, but we never thought we were going to need it. It was obviously right in the middle of nowhere, but close enough to another town for us to have access to anything we needed."

I fell silent then. The memory of the cart ride there came back to me; the sense of loss and overhanging clouds of thunder in the sky above had only contributed perfectly to the misery of the occasion. We were leaving the life we knew behind us for good, and there was no way we were getting it back. On that very day, I didn't feel very affected by it; just taking it my stride, with my only real concern being whether or not I was able to take all my books with me. I wasn't of course – just the ones I could fit in my travelling bag.

Clearly no one could understand why something so trivial was all I wanted to keep. I didn't understand it myself until about two months later, when reality finally hit me like a suspended mallet that had remained idle for too long.

On one of the most unexpected days, after I had distracted myself from what had been left behind for longer than I should have, my emotions could not be restrained on their eventual arrival. These sort of 'breakdowns' not only inconvenienced me, but everyone else around me: my family were almost done responding to the next phase of grief, and I was only altering the course to the finish line.

My books, of which only I had read them all, were the only constant that I revered from the past, therefore I needed them to remind me that this time really had existed. I couldn't understand how nobody else could see this how I did. In my eyes, they were the strange ones, not me.

"Elenar?" Lucien prompted gently, breaking through my veil of trance.

My head jolted up as I was awoken, automatically smiling briefly with embarrassment as I met his expression of apology and concern.

"Sorry," I began neutrally, brushing off the memory quickly. "I've not even thought about them at all for a long time."

He didn't answer, instead giving me a small but reassuring smile that he understood what I meant; I didn't need to elaborate. There was also a glimmer of reflective recognition in the depths of his eyes before his gaze pulled back and he turned to the view of the city below.

"It's still too early to leave right now," he continued, thankfully veering in subject. "We can wait another couple of hours before then."

"Why's that?" I questioned, not seeing a difference between this time or the next.

"You'd be surprised how quickly brightness can be lost when travelling North," he explained casually. "It gets darker earlier, and by the time we get to the mountain pass, it should be around sunset; we'll stop then."

"Couldn't we just find somewhere else as we go through it?" I asked, confused. "I really don't see the difference."

"If we get too far into the Pale Hold under the impression the light will last, we'll be walking right into a blizzard, probably too far from anywhere we'd be able to find easily," he replied patiently, even though I could hear a slight strain in his voice: he didn't feel like the explanation. "I have a place in mind where we can stay, but it _will _depend on the number travellers and guard patrols on the road there."

"Fair enough," I answered, content with that reasoning as fact: I believed he knew enough about this environment to have sufficient evidence to back up his point. Still, he didn't have to sound so eager to quit telling me about it.

"I'm not frustrated at your asking," Lucien added after seeing the expression that believed I had been pushed aside. "It's simply quite dejecting that everything planned has the possibility of being thwarted somehow. I apologise if you thought otherwise."

He ended this last sentence with a glance in my direction, eyes dark and soft in contrast with the harsh white glare of the mid-morning sun; it only seemed forsaken in comparison to the warmth that resonated sincerity from a single eye movement.

My own gaze was able to be held for a few seconds in order for what he said to properly attach itself to my perception, before he smiled and averted it again, dropping his line of sight as well as his temporary (non-magic) power to entrance.

"It's fine," I responded best I could, attempting my best impression of being alert. "I just assumed - "

I stopped my sentence there as I realised I was about to go along the lines of distrust again. It escaped me as to why exactly Dunmer were so subtly prejudiced against everyone but our own race but, then again, Morrowind was stranded in between both Skyrim and Black Marsh; the two provinces that harboured races that would happily start a war against us on a single command. The Argonians attacking was something I could understand – the Dunmer keeping them slaves for years, et cetera – but the Nords just didn't happen to like the elves, and we also just happened to be closest to them.

I had never read anything that alluded to my race doing anything so bad as to cause this level of hatred, nor the Bosmer of Valenwood. My guess was that they were a little confused with their history, or very easy to forget about the High Elves; where the Bosmer had abandoned the Aldmeri Dominion, they had continued to take it to new extremes (or so I had heard). Therefore, domination and full-blown armies was their thing, not ours. If people continued to ignore that, it would eventually come to a movement that nobody would be prepared for, and I could guarantee that it would not end well if they got their way.

Perhaps most Nords were just too busy in taverns and clobbering us and each other to care about anything that required intellectual capacity…or perhaps being overly judgemental was turning into a bad habit for me. But I had good reasons, whereas they didn't. I supposed not all Nords were violent drunken louts, but the only other one I had met – that being the Helgen innkeeper – was still not the greatest example of an opinion changer.

Now that habit had had the fleeting idea to turn on Lucien, an Imperial who had never shown me an ounce of disrespect. Wasn't my brain working? Luckily, he was able to interpret my disapproving sigh as aimed at myself rather than him; his response being an amused twitch at the left side of his smile as his scanned quizzically over my face, probably near-reading my conflicting thoughts.

Out of thin air, because I imagined the humour he found in it, a short laugh burst out of me, and it surprised me so much that my hand clapped over my mouth to block the sound. It seemed quite unnatural to laugh at my own reactions, but it was the same one so often that even I believed it was over-used; I really did disapprove of a lot of people most of the time.

Though I had expected to provoke the same reaction from Lucien, which I did in part for a moment, there was more that layered in his eyes than humour as they fixed upon me. As I peered back up at him after my eyes had lowered in mild humiliation at such a solitary and sudden outburst, there was a strange inclusion of pride…no, admiration, that took me second or two to interpret. It was a look I thought I'd seen on a few occasions before from him, but never as obvious or for this long a time. It wasn't exactly confusing to witness it, but I still wasn't accepting of the fact that I didn't know why I was receiving this response.

"What?" I inquired, my voice still more pleasant through lingering humour.

Lucien's expression didn't falter as I asked, although his eyes dropped as he breathed in before explaining. "It's refreshing I suppose, to see you at least partially happy, even within context," he replied fluently, though his tone told me he was hesitant in what he said.

"It's more nervous self-mocking than anything," I went on, "It doesn't mean I'm happy at all."

"Is that something you do often?"

"You'd be surprised just how much," I answered with a slight twang of depression. "Being happy is just having more good days than bad; in my experience, not many have stayed that way for long. Based on recent events also, I can't really say things have gone much better for you either."

He gave the same brief laugh as I had presented before. It occurred to me then that I had never heard him laugh, as I'm sure he thought as soon as he heard me. As I had said, our past conversations didn't much venture outside of business, and that was not the cheeriest subject – not for the targets, at least.

His eyes, which were wonderfully large anyway, appeared to deepen with the added brightness it granted them. The laugh itself was deep and ringing with a past familiarity of the action, like a veil had been lifted from a corner of his mind which remembered a time before this. It certainly suited him, as did the persona I already knew, though I wondered at whether it was at all usual behaviour. Lucien could be an enigma as it was, and so I could almost call it fascinating to see such openness from him.

"I suppose not," he responded with a smile in my direction as I straightened out my short lived intrigued expression as quickly as I could. "Maybe that's exactly why I need you here; you're able to cope, even if it has to be a farce sometimes.

"You were fully prepared to fight back when I first met you, and you could have easily done it. You seem to find something to go on, despite the circumstance; no matter how awful you really feel." He paused, eyes facing away for a moment before returning to mine, "To me, it seems as though it was not a skill that had be learned for you. If it had not been for past experience solutions, I'm not sure that I could do the same."

After he stopped, Lucien didn't look as though he quite believed that he had said so much. Suddenly there was a visible vulnerability in his face, subtle as it wads, which I recognised as a hope for approval, like he was anxious only about my opinion.

"Where's this coming from?" I asked, equally concerned about my answer: I knew he respected me, but never did I think it to be as much for him to look up to my example as far as he was insinuating.

"Mostly from the fact that I'm impressed," Lucien replied with an air of flirtatiousness, the tug of a smile appearing as he continued. "There are not many people with your resilience in this world."

The end of his sentence had a tone that rose ever so slightly for what was intended to be a concluding point. It was the mind's way of interfering in matters that did not need to concern it. A short, pondering pause followed, Lucien's eyes shifting a little awkwardly before his voice could readjust, and he continued.

"I mainly meant to thank you for what you said last night, and for being honest in you thought," he went on; carefully as though his speech had to be perfectly crafted. "It's stimulating to hear someone with such a strong-willed opinion again."

Of course: my spontaneous small-scale speech from yesterday. I'd thought about it a little more before I'd fallen asleep, and was actually rather pleased with myself for it. I'd wanted to try to get at least some sense of immediacy through to him, since he hadn't appeared to be thinking about that himself.

I hadn't properly taken note until now, but I supposed the message may have begun to reach him even after I'd finished. I had only just realised how easy he had been to talk to just this morning; I'd simply taken it for granted that he had been acting relatively normal again. I felt almost proud.

Despite this, something struck me as odd in his speech.

"What do you mean '_again_'?" I contemplated, curious. "I would have thought that, being in the Brotherhood, there were more than enough original personalities to avoid the mainstream."

Lucien smiled – I'd see it as a smile of mild impressiveness – as I made my observation. "Often there are, but being a group of like-minded individuals, however much some try to remain uninfluenced by others, the only thing they are doing is simply trying," he continued with a nearly regretful tone. "Mathieu Bellamont is unfortunately someone who does have a fortified mind, and he is also one who can easily command others. I can only assume the remaining Black Hand fell to that mercy as effortlessly as he could direct their actions, all because of that.

"However, he himself fell to his own emotions in the past: by involving himself so heavily in the Dark Brotherhood's way of life, his mind was weakened by it. You see, even the strongest of people are vulnerable to surrendering influence, but that's where _you_ contradict them."

"It's intriguing how you think you can tell me my own personality," I interjected jokingly. He probably could though.

"I think I might be close enough," he replied pleasantly, his tone taking on a sudden upbeat route in contrast to the previous. "You had very viable motivation for joining, and I don't deny just how memorable that must be, but it was still one thing that kept you focused on what you did want.

"Bellamont wanted revenge – still wants revenge – but you've already got that. The Dark Brotherhood needed you just as much as you met every requirement possible for the job."

Lucien paused, and looked as though he was going to roll his eyes before he started to speak again. "It may sound like a cliché, and I'm certain you've already thought it as well, but I believe what we want is even a little justice available to people. If it's not going to come from guards, and it's going to be ignored by the Empire's enforced laws, then it _has_ to come from us."

A glimmer of remembrance skimmed over the gentle hazel pools of his eyes, which had been filling with repressed turmoil while he spoke. It hadn't put me off listening, because that was actually fascinating, but for what felt like the first time again, I was seeing the very same reaction that had been provoked by the mere mention of Rufio; the old man I had been instructed to kill for my initiation. As before, he quickly pushed it aside, as though assuming I hadn't noticed while it was in plain sight.

Whether or not these two things were at all linked was quite vague; for all I knew it could simply be the same amount of negative opinion about two entirely separate matters. Although, whatever the recently hinted at reason was, it was obviously to do with the Brotherhood. I'd probably planned to ask him once about Rufio, otherwise the question would not seem as familiar as it materialised in my head.

I considered putting it forward, but as quickly as I began toying with the idea, it dispersed. Like someone wanting to view the shadowed side of either moon, it had to be approached in the correct way; otherwise it would be impossible to achieve a result.

"Fine," I admitted, "I suppose your perception of things isn't _completely_ off."

Lucien raised an eyebrow in mock disapproval. "There have been occasions where I'm _wrong_?"

"Well, there was that time when you actually had to _think_ about running away from a group of highly skilled murderers who wanted you dead," I replied, somehow making mortality sound funny. "It wasn't too long ago; I would have thought you'd remember."

* * *

Within the next hour we had decided that enough time had passed in order for us to start moving on again; while there were still travelers only entering instead of leaving the Whiterun gate. We'd eaten, packed up the remaining supplies, and eventually tied the bags back on to Shadowmere's saddle. Much to her approval, they were lighter than they had been the day before.

After we led her down to the bottom of the hill, seeing as it was far too steep for her to be ridden, only then did we stop and haul ourselves up on to her back. For Lucien, it seemed much easier in spite of the fact that he had slept outside for the night, so in theory he should not have been unaffected. I, on the other hand, was finding movement rather difficult from my first camping experience: Morrowind had been predictably temperate, Cyrodiil was comfortably warm for the most part, but Skyrim felt like living inside an iceberg; the temperature only rising when your skin was numbed to its influence. I'll admit, the place felt a little more bearable than the day before, but I doubted acceptance of it any time soon. Since Lucien had spent such a time of his life in Skyrim, I supposed that was why he appeared unfazed.

We retraced our past steps over the small stone bridge across the river, and then turned North, the signpost at the three-way crossroads informing us that we were headed towards Dawnstar and Windhelm if we continued along the road.

A half hour later and Whiterun looked as though it was far behind us; the palace spire in a grey haze that seemed to blend into the distant mountain ranges themselves. Ahead of us was a vast emerald plain, though its grass and vegetation did not seem as soft in comparison with the Cyrodiilic Colovian Highlands, but easily matched its vivid hue of colour; the shades of green before me could not be pinpointed nor narrowed down to any specific number. It made no sense how a land so varied in environment could also be so unimaginative with weather. From what I could see of this grassland and the glistening crystals of snow that had settled on the mountains that bordered it to my far right, I could make the conclusion that Skyrim was the province of a predominantly bi-polar landscape.

There wasn't much in the way of civilisation on the road through the plain, which quickly became ever more rugged as the grass became thin and spaced out in sharp clumps, save one farm, small and insignificant enough to simply be family owned. Other than that, the only life we saw was a pack of four wolves, luckily far away enough for them not be distracted from the scent they were already preoccupied with us.

Soon enough, my constructed familiarity of greenery dwindled away and made a very noticeable transition into a wooded area of pine trees, sprinkled with snow which was making no effort to melt at any time in the immediate future. The grass disappeared under a crystallised blanket, and the path would have if it had not been so trodden in by passing travellers.

Despite a fog thick with cold having become visible up the gently sloped hill to a mountain path, it just happened to be the way Lucien had planned for us to follow. A path that went upwards into treacherous terrain of rocks, gale force winds if out of the cover of the valley, and from what I had read in the past, sabre cat territory. Excellent.

* * *

Fortunately, by the time the secluded Nightgate Inn was spotted through the heavy wisps of snow around us, we hadn't been killed at all.

The sky had gone from the ice blue over Whiterun Hold to a dramatic change of the deep purple of twilight over – which I had been informed – The Pale Hold. Time certainly did move faster in the Northern hemisphere, because at this time anywhere else the sky would be a darkening auburn, yet still bright as afternoon light.

The inn was relatively larger than what I would expect from the middle of a frozen valley, but definitely welcoming enough in appearance that the owners were able to keep business going. I supposed in Skyrim, there wasn't much risk of fires, so everything was made of wood, though it did give most buildings outside a city the impression of being a holiday cabin.

As I looked at the inn, I realised we probably weren't going to be stopping there any time.

"We're not staying in the cosy, warm inn are we?" I asked with a more miserable tone than intended. "Let me guess – another cave?"

"No idea," Lucien replied, concern in his voice as he halted Shadowmere. "I thought of this place, but - "

He trailed off on a raised note, and then motioned towards three horses tethered outside the inn with a nod to his left. I didn't see the significance until I squinted through the snow to make out the emblem on their saddles: the Imperial dragon.

"That's helpful," I commented with sarcasm, despite knowing how petrified I would be if _they _were the ones to locate us, "What now, then?"

Lucien briefly acknowledged my input with a glance back at me, then continued with gazing past the inn. Even with just a few inches of difference between our vantage points, he was still able to get a better idea of where to go than I was; ironic seeing as I was the tiniest bit taller than him.

Eventually – but only after five or six seconds – an idea ignited in his eyes as he gave me a glance again, probably checking that my attention span hadn't faltered in that short time.

"There's a sheltered pass through the two mountains up there," he explained, uncertainty somewhere in his tone as he continued, "The Imperial Legion troop from Solstheim use it to get on the road to Helgen, then back on in to Cyrodiil. It's almost lucky they were already here."

"But there's a quicker way through Riften, isn't there?" I went on, "I've seen some heading up there from Cheydinhal."

"That's mostly convenience rather than sense," Lucien answered gently, casually correcting my judgement. "No one goes through Southern Eastmarch if they can help it, especially not if they're inexperienced in combat, like the guards you see going there."

Eastmarch: another Hold in Skyrim I gathered. It was at that same moment that I realised one of our decisions of chosen paths, and not for the better.

"Wait, if Eastmarch is North of Riften, are we travelling down that oh-so-dangerous road you're referring to?" I demanded more than questioned, a slight tone of panic becoming apparent in my voice.

"It's not dangerous in the slightest for us," he remarked with a small smile. "Like you said, the only occupants of the area are 'a few pesky house burglars.' I think we'll be fine."

I made a mock-irritated scoffing sound. "Don't use me against me here," I responded in a surprisingly flirtatious manner as I caught his gaze. "Besides, if there _are _bandits there, _and _the Imperial Legion doesn't want to go near them one merely presumes that avoiding them also would be the safest option."

And there it was yet again: cooperative flirting. Why did this keep happening? Why I wasn't in control of my tone of voice eluded me slightly.

What I had responded with could have been put forward neutrally, ambiguously even, but I hadn't expected another reflection of Lucien's main mode of address.

This was usually my head's way of suggesting something I should either be accepting or feeling, and there was clearly no denying that there were reasons apparent for that, but since I didn't feel bothered enough to think about it – my head could often be wrong – I quite while I was ahead.

So _was_ I denying something?

No. I'd block that thought: I said I'd quit it.

It was pitch dark by the time we'd properly set up camp, save for the few flickering candles from the inn's windows below us. We weren't as high up as I had anticipated, and therefore the temperature hadn't much changed.

We'd left Shadowmere untethered beside the Imperial horses at the poor excuse for a stable behind the building; it was just a shack-like roof being supported by some wooden beams, a large trough of food pushed against the back wall of the inn. She didn't seem to feel one bite of cold in spite of her rather thin coat, and there was plenty of food there for her. She'd be okay for one night.

As we unloaded our supplies, one of the horse owners had appeared and acknowledged us, though he seemed more interested in taking his own supplies from the horse's saddle bag, thank Sithis. Shadowmere's saddle had been removed to be taken up to the campsite with us, seeing as it bore the mark of the Black Hand. He didn't notice it, and I hoped no more attention would be paid.

But then I thought I recognised him.

If these guards really were from Solstheim, then it also meant they would have gone to the Blacklight Imperial camp on their routine patrols. That would explain it perfectly: he looked as though he had been part of the unit from the Dunmeth Pass just over a year ago. Oh yes, I remembered their faces well. If I was correct, he'd been the most unsure person of the five who had been standing around me, as if I was in any state to kill the lot of them at that point. There was also every possibility he had been one of two who had hit me with an arrow; the searing pain was still fresh in my memory. I hid my anger with everything else though.

He was about to turn and walk back to the front door of the inn, but instead paused, halted, and then pivoted back around, quizzical eyes on me. He knew he'd seen me somewhere before, and was busy scanning over my face as I quickly – but not obviously – averted my anxious expression from his line of sight.

I believed he would have approached me if Lucien hadn't broken through the unnerving silence, the bag of supplies slung over his shoulder:

"You are aware that staring is rude, aren't you?" he continued with an unmoving sadistic glare in the man's direction. "Keep your distance unless, of course, you'd _like_ a beating arranged."

Lucien probably could have snapped his neck within a second, even if he didn't appear as strong compared to the burly Legion member that attempted to stare him down. Then again, _I _could have snapped his neck anyway; I didn't need interference, even if his disappearance _would_ be noticed. In spite of that, my only reaction was to thankfully watch Lucien as he effortlessly won the stand-off. All it took was a simple raise of his head to show he was perfectly serious in his threat, and the man retreated, muttering something like 'not worth it' as he went. I suspected a little magic help in the matter as well.

I also couldn't tell whether Lucien recognised the guard as well, he was being protective, or it was the easiest way of getting out of suspicion; perhaps all three. Either way, I was glad of it.

Afterwards, he handed me the supplies and told me he was going to get firewood from a nearby storage building. Those days as a thief, I thought, were definitely paying off. He didn't say why we were taking this job change, but it had certainly come from the guard's curiosity not moments before.

So I dumped everything below the perfectly formed archway of stone, and only had to wait another forty minutes before Lucien showed up again, arguably in a lighter mood now the past threat was out of the way. He was definitely in better form than the previous night at least.

"That man was definitely one of the group from the Pass, wasn't he?" he asked casually after the fire had been ablaze for about an hour. "I didn't just threaten someone with good intentions, did I?"

Lucien was sitting opposite me, on the other side of the small campfire, the glow from it only emphasising the warmth in his expression. His relaxed posture of leaning back against the rock wall with loosely folded arms was a clear indicator that he was becoming far less – or outwardly so, at least – anxious of impending doom. I couldn't help but feel a certain sense of pride when I thought about it, knowing my words had been the thing to cause this.

"No – I recognised him too," I replied, guessing that was his reason. "I would have been angrier if I actually knew which one shot me."

"I was angry enough that he just stood there and let that happen to you," he stated as darkness clouded his eyes before continuing. "The other guard, I mean."

Now it was my turn for bitterness. "That bastard was wearing some kind of personalised amulet; looked quite 'important'," I explained with an air quote, "The rest couldn't have complained even if they wanted to."

"Did you ever find out his name?" Lucien questioned in anticipation. "If you did, I'm certain something could be arranged to surprise him."

I smiled and leaned back against my side of the open cave, lost in a brief thought of watching him suffer. It was rather satisfying.

"I only heard it once, and that was from another prison guard," I answer, sighing in disdain before giving him a real reply. "I think his surname is Civello; some spoilt rich kid by name and nature."

Contemplation came over his face as his eyes shifted a few times. "As in a relative of Giovanni Civello?" he continued with a hint of concern. "There's no question as to why he was allowed to do what he wanted: Giovanni Civello became Commander of the Imperial Legion after you killed Phillida. _Your _Civello was most probably third in line for that position, assuming he's Giovanni's son."

"That really does explain a lot," I replied, rage building to a peak inside of me. "I wondered why he was so adamant about expressing his authority. The other prison guards just left when he arrived. Wanted to pretend they weren't aware of anything."

There was a long pause before Lucien thought to respond again, but when he did I saw a new kind of fear in his eyes.

"What did he do?"

For a second I was back in the Imperial Prison, attempting not to make eyes contact with Civello as he passed by the cell door. If I did, he'd assume a challenge, because we were apparently so below him. More times than I had cared to count, there had been occasions whereby this unspoken rule had been forgotten by someone, and he'd only thought it his duty to put them in their place.

The man was a domineering misogynist as well as morally corrupt. He had no sense of how far his need for control should go, and sunk so low to presume there were no female inmates to rival his strength. There was a Wood Elf in one cell on our corridor that gave him a black eye one day, and he'd been too humiliated to do anything further. It would have been a good day if I wasn't being used as his punch bag later on.

"Just what you'd expect of a man with a need for dominance and brutality," I explained with contempt, "I'm just lucky to have escaped the worst of it."

I expected another threat towards him from Lucien, but he had fallen deadly serious, a deeper hate than I could have imagined directed at someone he'd never met. Either this was a protective instinct, or something that was affecting him more than my information alone.

I was about to say something else in order to lighten the atmosphere if but a little, but Lucien's head rose first.

"I meant to ask you a long time ago, but I always wondered exactly how you got out of that prison," he went on, now curiosity rather than ferocity in his tone, "If there was someone like him there, how is it that you weren't caught?"

"There was actually a prisoner who escaped before I did that day," I replied, recalling the strange events exactly how they happened. "She was in the cell next to me, then for some reason Blades agents showed up and opened her door. I only know they were Blades because one of them was half visible from where I sat.

"They were escorting someone to safety, I heard, but I wasn't too concerned with what they were actually saying. The only thing that resonated meaning were the words 'secret exit.' I knew that it was in her cell; there was no other reason for anyone to be there.

"Anyway, half an hour later, after everything had gone quiet over there, an Imperial guard came down to check everyone. Before he could run back to report a missing prisoner, that Dunmer opposite began taunting him about something, I'm not sure what though. Naturally he went over to tell him to shut up, but when he backed off a little, he was standing with his back to me.

"I saw the ring of keys hooked around the back of his belt. The longer the Dunmer wanted a fight, the longer those keys were in my reach; pure luck that I managed to get them. I had my hand around them when another guard called from the top of the stairs to tell him the Emperor had been murdered. As the first guard moved forward for more information, the keys simply pulled away from the string grip that I'd loosened. He didn't even notice: luckily in shock.

"When he left I simply unlocked the door, found the now ignored evidence chest with all my things, and ran out of the same exit that the other prisoner had taken."

Lucien listened to everything I was saying with such interest and intrigue that I was afraid he'd actually just switched off and entered trance-like state. As usual, my presumptions about him were proven wrong about him in comparison to any other person I'd been forced to communicate with. In Lucien's case, calling him attentive would be an understatement. Eventually, after watching my closing reaction, he smiled with an obvious empathy as he resumed leaning against the rock, gaze refusing to unlock from mine.

I dropped my eyes with slight awkwardness. "Well, I guess you know the rest," I concluded with a small forced laugh; there was something else that had entered my mind, though not an unfamiliar presence.

"Lucien?" I prompted after a long hesitation, his head rising at the sound of his name. The expression on his face gradually went from one of calm to paranoid anticipation before I continued. "You know practically everything that's worth knowing about me, but don't you think you owe me an explanation about yourself? Like, who did _you_ kill to get here?"

I'd intended it as a joke, but that was not the initial reaction I got. Lucien stilled, frozen as though frightened by the question itself. Immediately I was aware that this was a mistake; if he wanted to tell me then I believed he probably would have by now. Instead of allowing any more time before either nothing or a forced answer was given, I tried to back track.

"I'm sorry," I began rather abruptly before watching a little more coldness seep into his eyes, "I really didn't mean to pry - "

"Do you remember Rufio?" he interrupted in a slow and smooth voice, though it was the underlying gravel that halted me while I was ahead.

"Sorry?"

Lucien's eyes grew dark as they made a sharp impact on mine, clouded over by a fierce yet restrained contempt; though it was for the subject, rather than me. "The old man you killed for your initiation. I doubt you'd forget him."

"Yes. Yes, of course I do. But what does he have to do with it?"

Lucien shifted off the rock wall and leant forward, arms folded in defence. I knew that he was debating with himself whether to answer or not, probably giving me a story he'd not had to tell for a long time; perhaps for good reason. But I'd had to ask, and this one was not something I could quickly dismiss.

"I murdered his friend six months before I was recruited," he continued with the pure anger I'd not really heard since he told me to kill Rufio. "They worked at a store not far from the town I lived in, and if Rufio hadn't have been collecting stock, he'd be dead too."

Whatever memory he was reliving took over him for a few moments as the silence of hate was all too obvious. There were so many things that needed explaining, but I thought I'd start with the question that most concerned me.

"But you knew where he was when you sent me there," I responded calmly as I could, "If you're the one wanted him dead, why didn't you do it yourself."

I was surprised that I had actually coaxed a smile from him, small and brief as it may have been. "It's complicated in so many different ways," he replied, sounding annoyed at an unknown source. After a hesitation of thought, he turned back to speak again. "Did you talk to him at all; ask him why he was a target?"

"No. No, not at all," I answered, more than a little curious now. "I cut his throat while he slept."

Lucien's expression grew empathetic as he watched me. "Luckily that's what I expected," he explained, "It wouldn't have been as...unnoticed if I had indeed faced him myself."

It seemed as though telling me what happened was his eventual intention, but it also seemed that without any prompted, he would be creating too much ambiguity around the subject. It was making me anxious in imagining.

"Lucien," I began, my voice at a constantly soft volume, "I guess what Rufio and his friend did must have been awful – putting _you _to silence – but please don't keep me in the dark here, especially when it's something you need to say."

He looked up with a relinquished willpower i the depths of his eyes, hand in hand with the hatred that had whittled its wall down. Our sight collided and held for a short time as acceptance of my statement engaged his mind, followed by an inhale of breath which shuddered with both preparation and the impact of the crisp air on the back of his throat. With a slow lowering of his eyelids, he started at the beginning.

"When I first met them I was fourteen; I went with my sister to their store." At this point his eyes became glassy and distant, "She's four years older than me, and was certainly one of the strongest people I knew before…well, I'll get to that.

"They weren't the nicest of people even then, just…strange; something was always off in any look or passing comment made – to Lillian especially – yet not one person had a thing to say about it but me."

"Lillian's your sister's name?"

Lucien nodded once. "We couldn't have been more dissimilar, despite our names," he remarked. "She was by far the more capable one, could take care of herself in a heartbeat if she had to. Everyone who knew her in town seemed to adore her as well. I didn't mind, as long as I wasn't getting attention, it was fine.

"But in spite of all that, she wasn't one for going out all that much; spent a lot of time in the house with us – me and our parents. When she was inside, she had no need to show how confident she really was, but then again, our parents didn't much care for anyone acting outside of expectation: maybe she couldn't show it. Either way, we got on well, and I looked up to her just as much as anyone she talked to."

He paused suddenly, like he'd realised his digression, or knew that he couldn't hedge around the real subject matter here.

But he'd referred to Lillian in the present tense at first, and it was clear this was to do with something that had happened to her, which also involved Rufio. If I was right in a theory I had, I was certain now that I didn't want to be.

"It was our errand to pick up everything we needed for the week from the nearest store, which had been Rufio's since I was fourteen, obviously," he continued, a slow pace and dark nerves drifting into this narrative. "They often ignored me, choosing instead to make lurid comments at Lillian, who easily brushed them off. As time went on, one or the other continued in attempts to ask her out with them; to their disappointment, she passed on all their offers. But this only made them more…aggressive in their way of conversation. We tried our best to avoid them at this point.

"There weren't any stores more convenient than there, so sometimes it was our only option. When we _did _end up there, they were relentless in giving her attention – all of it unwanted.

"The last time I was there with her, Rufio was the one who tried to pull her towards him, but he got hard slap across the face for it instead. We left without anything from them."

Lucien stilled then, but there was no fear to answer as before, or the need to avoid the subject at hand. There was simply a heavy despair that washed over his face, making him look as though he felt nothing other than everything. Showing so little sometimes only suggested that you felt too much to open up with. As I was just the respondent to all this, the emotions brewing underneath the simplified shell of sadness were only ones that I could take a wild guess at.

His gaze turned down, making no eye contact while he spoke. "Our parents were out somewhere that evening – I still don't know where – so it was just me and Lillian for a while, before realising that we hadn't actually brought any food back from _any_ store that day. She said that she'd go to the other one while I stayed home; it was further away, but always open until late. She told me she'd be back in a half hour, and left.

"An hour passed, then another, but she hadn't come back. Only when the sky had finally blotted out the warmth of the sunset did she return. She was crying without a sound, arms attempting to wrap around herself as she shivered with far more than just the winter cold. Her eyes weren't focused even when she drifted into the house, as though she'd made the journey back without noticing her surroundings once; when the door closed behind her, she collapsed to the floor, and there wasn't a thing I could do to calm the sobbing."

A lump in my throat made me hesitate and swallow before I responded. "What did she say happened?"

"Rufio and his friend were out walking in the marketplace when they spotted her," Lucien answered in a shaken monotone. "They followed her in to an alley we used as a shortcut…they both attacked her."

"When you say 'attacked' - ?"

He looked up and into my anxious eyes, nodding before I dropped my own gaze with a bowed head. The space around us had even fallen in to a deep and unnerving quiet, save the distant sounding whistle of the breeze, whose biting breath seemed insignificant to me now.

"How was she after that?" I asked in a surprisingly hesitant tone; wanting and dreading to know.

"It was…like her soul had been broken, the pieces scattered so far apart from each other that there were too many for her to carry back to one place without some falling from her grasp. She wasn't whole anymore, nor did she seem to recall what it was like to be; every day was a series of falsities just to get our parents off her back for 'acting strangely'. It took a week for her to tell me what happened, and just who had dragged her down so far."

His eyes burst into a flame of rage as I knew the recollection of their faces flooded into his mind. It probably took all the effort he could muster to keep that burning out of his voice.

"I thought that at least one of them would be at the shop in the late evening of the next night, so I could kill them with no additional resistance, then wait for the other to come back," he explained malevolently. "But Rufio never got back, in spite of how long I waited. I struck the other one in the spine with a carving knife and watched him crumple to the floor; the cease of his twitching the only confirmation that he had eventually died from blood loss.

"When the news spread that a shopkeeper had been butchered behind his own counter, Lillian and I were the only ones not expressing our condolences. That was the first day after that night on which I had seen a genuine smile from her, after I said that I was his killer. Unfortunately, she was too nervous to go outside to see it for herself."

"What about Rufio? Where did he go?" I questioned a little too eagerly.

"He reported the crime and ran," Lucien replied, still with brimstone fuelling his explanations. "Based on the snippets of Lillian's account, he was my main target in all this."

I would by no means push him to tell me what she had said, so I had to put in the first question I could think of to get _his _mind off of the subject: "Is that why you left High Rock - to track him down?"

Lucien gave a small shake of his head. "I was sixteen: I wouldn't have gone willingly away even if it was permitted," he continued with an edge of bitterness. "No, I left because I didn't have another choice. I got angry when my father was talking about how he'd miss the man I killed, while Lillian was in the room, and I gladly let myself lose control of my speech.

"They didn't know what had happened – Lillian had never told them – so I shouted it at them. Then I confessed to the murder. They only took in the second part."

"What did they do?"

"Packed my bags and told me to leave," he answered, his tone used in such a way as if the phrase was 'that's typical'. "Before, Lillian could have spoken up, but I didn't feel betrayed by her; only by the people who should have cared more about the fact that their daughter had been raped."

Lucien immediately recoiled at the word, taken aback by the very idea of its meaning. Sudden rapid breathing of anger gradually decelerated back to a regular pace as his hand briefly touched his forehead in a self-calming gesture.

"I went to the nearest border, which led to the Hold of Haafingar in Skyrim," he went on, more subdued now, "I thought that this was the most likely place Rufio would have chosen to hide out, and I hunted him for Sithis knows how long, but still there was no sign of him.

"In the place of Rufio, I decided to follow up reports of other…incidents where the same crime had occurred, and took them down instead. It was fulfilling to say the least, and before long I was approached by the Brotherhood. Clearly, I accepted."

"Did you ever stop looking?" I asked with genuine curiosity.

"Only when it became impossible to follow a trail, but others continued to fall by my hand," he said with a hint of pride. He paused then, a certain event flickering across his vision. "The day that I went to the Imperial City to hear a contract from a man named Claudius Arcadia, was the day I had expected never to arrive: he put a price on Rufio's head for the same reason I had wanted him dead. Except this time he made the mistake of killing the girl."

"You knew he was in Cyrodiil and _still _didn't kill him yourself?"

"I wanted to – _needed _to, even," he replied with a confessional tone, "I tracked him to the Inn of Ill Omen without taking the contract back to the Sanctuary, and saw him for the first time in just over twenty years, finally looking scared for his own life at the darkest table in the corner.

"I could have throttled him, ripped him apart without a second thought or care about who witnessed it. But for one reason or another, I was repelled by the very thought of even staring in to the face of such evil, even when I'd killed so many of them before. I couldn't stand to give myself the time to think of him until I came to a solution of both justice and revenge; that's when I saw you escape the Imperial Prison."

Gradually, I rearranged and evaluated all the information I'd just heard, picking out each key point before that 'solution' he mentioned became clear as day:

"Rufio would have accounted for the contract on the Nords, which seems fair," I thought out loud, watching his expression all the time to see if I was right. No signs that I was off so far. "At that point, you knew that if you'd told me about Rufio straight away, I'd accept anyway. I suppose because you'd chosen me yourself for his death, instead of a random assignment, that's revenge. What about the justice part of the plan?"

Lucien gave a small but knowing smile before catching my gaze almost effortlessly. "I watched as you missed your chance at that last Nord at the Pass. I figured both of us neede one more of those bastards out of the world."

"I've never heard _you _curse before," I replied, attempting at least a small percentage of mood uplifting. "Am I the bad influence here?"

"Perhaps," he remarked with a sudden flirtatious smirk; I suspected he hadn't foreseen that either. The ephemeral smile retreated slowly as a reminder of something came back to him. "Lhunara pulled off a good contract, so you know; killed the Nord slowly after a series of torture and interrogation. Like us, she wants to know _exactly _who her target is, rather than a simple name on parchment. There wasn't much left to identify him by, so I heard."

So that was the assassin he sent out, and that was certainly a Dunmer name. I'd have to thank her if I ever got the chance. But then there was something else in my mind, though it made me more uncomfortable than I expected.

"How much do _you _know exactly," I passed before continuing, "About what…happened?"

Lucien's eyes immediately pierced into mine, a softened rage visible as a spark on a campfire that refused to be extinguished, continuing without something to fully fuel it. Its strength was entirely based on my reaction, which was relatively neutral and subdued right now. If it had been any more heightened or weak, it would act like the oxygen a flame needed to grow; but instead it remained constant, empathy instead of anger winning out in the war for escape.

"Enough," he answered, his throat stalling at first, "I certainly know enough, though none of which I'd like to."

A long pause followed, during which we averted eye contact from each other, pushing our own memories of that subject out of our heads. Although he would find the fact unfathomable, I knew that I was far more successful with that task in comparison.

"Have you ever gone back to High Rock, just out of curiosity, I mean?" I asked with both the intention to break the silence and because I was now concerned for Lillian myself.

Lucien raised his head, eyes glittering in the firelight with an aura of ethereal innocence. "Only twice before. No one recognised me at all," he continued, his voice adopting the same mystical and nostalgic traits of his eyes. "I did see her: you would never be able to believe she'd been through anything worse than simple life complications. She looked…happy the last time I saw her – I thought there was no need for me to check up any more after that. If she was happy, I wanted just that to remember."

"How long ago was that?"

"Just five years," he replied, a smile creeping on to his face. "Maybe I underestimate resilience sometimes. It's strange how that day is probably in my head more than it is in hers now."

"I guess that's just what happens," I began, my voice low. "Everyone else might see you as fragile as glass, broken at the slightest pressure on one crack. But it's only one thing that's imperfect, at no fault of your own, but by someone else's hand. Time hardly erases that fracture – it's right there for everyone to see – but the more time that it's there, the more insignificant it becomes; the less it's noticed, and above all, the less time is spent thinking about how it got there in the first place.

"I think that anyone who has them can forget about those fractures if they stop looking at them, but to others who notice them, they're simply something they wish would go away – often because they believe that person is more damaged than they appear; as though they could just fall apart."

"What about the people who do?"

I thought for a moment. "Depends on thickness of the glass, I suppose."

Lucien nodded with the acceptance of understanding, eventually gazing back at me with brimming curiosity in his expression. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but how exactly do _you _stop thinking about the past?" he questioned cautiously, not quite sure about how to phrase what he was saying. "I mean, a lot's happened."

I gave him the much unexpected response of a smile. "The point is that I _don't _think, Lucien," I continued, "I'm not sure whether that's a good thing – to let it build up so much – but that's all I know about coping. Sometimes I don't let anything affect me until something that rivals it arises."

"So you have to move out one trauma before dealing with another?"

"It's not the best way, I know," I replied honestly, "Probably not the safest either; not entirely accepting things for so long…but what happened to my family was one thing I couldn't dismiss.

"I killed the people responsible and finished my grieving in the Imperial Prison. I told myself that I'd try and change – to accept events and act on them. Not surprisingly, that hasn't happened yet."

I paused before a spontaneous and subconscious question was suddenly released into the empty air.

"Does that make me weak, at all?"

It turned out that this was what I feared the most: being just a blur of passive insignificance that other people felt the need to have to care for. And yet I needed reassurance.

"Of course not; why would you even consider that?" Lucien answered with almost the same tone as a scolding. As I was willed to return his gaze, I noticed a certain disappointed pity that flickered with the fire in his eyes: "You are hardly weak, not when you carry on without hindrance by anything. You have also single-handedly taken down half of the Black Hand; that is no simple feat by any accounts."

"Even when it brought us to a desolate, cold land to continually hide from a group of murderers?"

Lucien laughed softly. "Not even then," he uttered with a gentle tone. "You are nothing _but_ a force to be reckoned with, Elenar. If you were not, you could not possibly have climbed so highly in my favour in such a short amount of time."

Although I was so awe-struck in his gaze, I had to look away, if only for a moment to wipe the twitching grin off of my face before realising this was the least of my concerns; my face itself was boiling over. Had it been any other time in the day, other than pitch black in front in a fire, the redness would be far too noticeable; though the options of the cause between the fire and something…different weren't exactly vague in my conclusions. But trusting every piece of my own advice or judgement didn't always lead me to the right choice.

I glanced to my right, back to his gaze. "Thank you," I replied with an ironic quietness. "I'm still more of a follower than a leader though, but _with _my own mind of course. It depends a great deal on who's leading as well, and in this case, that would be you. Maybe that's the reason I never questioned the dead-drop letters: because I respect your orders, over any other."

His face broke in to an expression of disbelief, or that's what I interpreted it as; there wasn't much else that it could be. It appeared that he couldn't comprehend the fact that I held him in just as much high regard as he held me. He gave me a small smile before turning his eyes down for a moment, in which time his expression stabilised, then returned to mine.

"You're not the only one who wants things back to normal, you know," I added somewhat profoundly.

"Oh, I _do _know," Lucien replied, the change to a more calming atmosphere especially apparent as the campfire began to lessen in strength, the wood disintegrating gradually. "It will take a while longer before we get there though.

"But if one flaw in the plan arises, we may not even get that far."

"Then Bellamont should die as soon as possible," I responded, though there was no anger in my voice, just a warm matter-of-factness. "His existence almost exhausts me now."

"Nothing has ever been more truly spoken," Lucien laughed, "I agree entirely."

The lingering smile was one that I had not witnessed in a long time, his brown eyes suddenly bright with exultation, his pleasant expression certainly not one that had seen such things as he had described. Mine did not feel much different to this. Perhaps 'normal' was not so far off as we believed.


	7. Ch 7: Best Safety Lies in Fear

**Chapter 7**

**Best Safety Lies in Fear**

The fire eventually crackled and hissed its way through a slow death at least an hour before I fell asleep. Lucien had followed my suggestion of letting me keep watch for the night, and I didn't know why I had even the slightest bit of motivation to do it in the first place any more. There were two things worth watching at most: a curious fox that wandered towards me before leaping backwards and scampering away, and the Imperial soldiers having a very loud and drunken conversation by the small pond outside Nightgate Inn.

I'll admit that the urge to hurt them was still prevalent in my mind as I stared, but I was far too tired at that point to do anything but imagine it. I later concluded that it would be a very irresponsible thing to do anyway: there were three of them and one of me; they were unpredictable and violent, whereas I was violent but simply exhausted.

They must have gone back inside within the early hours of the morning, as I could easily remember the ultramarine hue on the horizon.

Lucien hadn't woken once, and I didn't think he'd even moved for all the time he had been asleep; silent save for the occasional soft bouts of breathing beside me.

Drowsiness only ever caused me to stare into space, or at anything that took my interest at a given moment. One moment just happened to draw my attention to him: Lucien's mildly unconscious expression was one of serenity, sleep granting ignorance from the rest of the world. Sometimes his eyelids would quiver as his eyes darted in the virtual reality he was living, but didn't flutter open as if in distress. If something could be this peaceful, then I longed to go to wherever that was.

Perhaps that was the thought that prompted my eyes to close, since I didn't remember actually falling asleep, nor did I remember when I started to dream; and when I was dreaming, I couldn't remember how or why it began.

I was standing in a forest, and somehow I knew it was the stretch of pine trees at the border before Falkreath, at the edge of Cyrodiil. It wasn't dark, but there were no visible streams of light as before; the sky was instead overcast and dull, heavy like it was full of rain. But there was no storm, no lightning or thunder that I could hear. There was nothing forest; no animals, no breeze, no movement around me. Everything was far too still for my liking; suspense and surprise were not things which connoted positivity.

I turned left, then right, but despite my frantic nerves, there was still no movement in the area. Though I saw no one, I couldn't deny the feeling of voyeurism from the unknown.

Unwillingly, I was moving forward, though trying to move my head around as I went. It was brightest there, where the field of snow lay, barred in by the neatly lined trees. I knew that this was unreal when they appeared so stylised, but it didn't feel like there was an escape to the eerily approaching nightfall as I progressed along the dirt path.

What couldn't be more than thirty seconds later, the light had dimmed so much that I could hardly see anything ahead of me. The white edges of blackened tree trunks – no longer wood, but pillars – were my only guiding light driving me forward.

Out of the peripheral vision of my right eye, there was a burst of amber light before the familiar smell of lit candles caused me to pivot my attention towards it.

As I caught sight of the light source, I recognised it as an altar of some kind; the candles, some on stands, surrounding a centrepiece that I couldn't discern from the distance away I was. I edged closer through no will of my own, an odd zooming motion becoming apparent when the altar itself seemed to approach me, so quickly that I was disorientated and dizzied by the movement.

It was directly in front of me now, and I was faced with a grim yet unfortunately memorable sight: Bellamont's mother's head sat on the tablecloth in the circle of candles, though there was definitely more blood than I remembered. The viscous scarlet liquid spread out to the altar's edge from the remains of the visible arteries through the sallow throat like a river; silently the drops hit the ground almost in slow motion, but I couldn't back away.

The white light of the snow field to my right had become only a thin slit, not unlike the candlelight from inside the crate, in the lighthouse cellar. It was the only thing giving me the assurance that there could be any safe way out of this horrific image. Unfazed by blood as I was, the vision was not something I cared to spend any more time in the company of. I knew it was a dream – it was more than clear that it was not real. The terror creeping up on me however was _very_ real.

There was no noise but my own muffled breathing and footsteps until now. No temperature and no air which I could detect. Everything was still as death, and as unnerving as that had been for the rest of the time, I would've remained there for an eternity if it meant I didn't have to witness the next event.

A sharp break of settled snow was heard like a spear through ice to my far right, making my head dart immediately towards it, breathing speed increasing by the second. A bar of the light I held in reverence was being blocked by the one who had made the first footstep, now adamantly holding me in an invisible gaze as a target.

It was simply a dark shadowed figure, no face to be seen in the void under its hood, but there was just one name that sprung to mind: Mathieu Bellamont - even when I had seen nothing of him but a presence outside of a hiding place.

He continued in gradual pursuit as the first frozen sting of Northern wind swept in from the plain behind him, hemming me in to one spot. I was already stone cold with fear, so this only served to make me number.

I must have watched him move forward at least five more steps before realising my alertness should have kicked in, and so I turned towards the side of the weapons belt I almost never removed, reaching for the silver longsword…but there was nothing there. I'd unattached the sheathe it was in before I started my watch.

I panicked for the briefest moment before I found the hilt of the ebony dagger from Lucien also tied on to one of the belt's links, and not a moment too soon: the scenery around me was losing its contrast, blending quickly into a hazy dark grey curtain as I heard the footsteps get closer, and closer still. Suddenly, they just stopped, though I couldn't sense Bellamont anywhere near me, as if he'd disintegrated into nothingness.

This unnerved me even more than knowing he was there. Knowing he would reach me at some point. I couldn't tell whether I was shaking with cold or with anger that I couldn't simply kill him now.

I was standing just in thick grey fog now, but I wasn't able to touch it or manipulate it in any way: just a field of grey in which he could be watching and waiting from – always one of life's constant observers.

I tightened my grip around the dagger not a second later, and this second counted more than the last: within that time – and although I heard nothing – Bellamont must have materialised behind me, and then reached out. At the very same point in time as his hand touched my right arm, my survival instinct took over from my head.

I spun around so sharply as to shock him into submission, and took hold of his wrist with my left hand, which was not holding the dagger. I managed to catch the back of his ankle with my foot, and with momentum already in action, I was able to pin his wrist to the ground above his head. I drew the dagger and pressed one side of the blade to his throat in one swift movement, threatening any retaliation he made, but not his life…not yet.

It was only then that I realised something was quite different as I raised my eyes a little – there were no bars of trees now, nor was there a bland grey area around me; instead there was snow falling gently to the ground outside an arch of stone. I had regained my senses, realising it was cold, and there was definitely a faint scent of charred firewood in the distance, perhaps from a wooden chimney.

Then I suddenly knew I wasn't sleeping, and back in the bitter reality of Skyrim. Bellamont wasn't here; much to my relief…yet someone still had a knife to their throat. That was the point when I found myself in the most anxiety, yet in too much to move immediately.

"Elenar, _listen _when I say I'm not a threat," Lucien told me in the calmest choked voice I'd ever heard, "Whoever you thought I was, I assure you that I'm not, so please, take the blade away now."

The words had a delayed reaction on my part, but a few seconds later, after I stared deeply into the eyes I had to honestly tell myself _were _Lucien's, they struck me like an electric jolt. I adopted the fear of what I _could _have done, and threw the dagger into the rock wall to my left in panic and shot backwards, releasing the hold on his arm before landing on the snow.

We were both attempting to catch our breath, both reasons stemming from shock. Lucien had a hand on the pressure point I'd left in the side of his neck while his eyes were fixed on me, a look of concern and bewilderment in them as he cautiously pushed himself up from the ground; snow dropping from the patches of his robe which had been pressed to it.

I had to turn my own gaze away, mostly out of shame and a strange dread of what he might think of me.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I apologised in almost a whisper. I might have been muttering the same thing under my breath since I pulled away, but this was the first time I'd heard it.

There was a pause which seemed to last a year at my expense, like there was no real way to answer to a situation such as this. Not that I'd expect there to be: wasn't the norm of social etiquette to know how to answer someone who had just threatened to slit your throat, even if it was a mistake. I imagined that this was the reason for Lucien to take such care in constructing a reply.

"If you had the idea that I might be taking you to the Imperial City again, I'll remind you that we've been over that already," he commented with the attempt of lightening the mood, though I only gave the reaction of a nerve induced laugh that sounded a little too overplayed: _not _the response he wanted.

"You know that I could have killed you, don't you?" I replied, still sounding in between a laugh and despairing frustration.

"Not something that hasn't happened before," he shrugged, keeping a steady voice for both our sakes. He then took the hand away from his throat, looking down to check that there was no blood at all, which there was, in fact. But only through the smallest break of skin, not an issue after just wiping it away a few times.

"Shit," I uttered to myself, automatically running a hand partly through my hair. "What _were _you doing there anyway?"

"You were shaking; hardly a pause in your breathing," he continued with measured concern, "I didn't whether it was the cold or a dream. I suppose it was the latter?"

The memory of it flooded back through me with the impact of a tidal wave. "I thought you were…that you…I don't know what I thought really," I tried hedging, but his curious and prying eyes changed my mind again. "I guess I thought you were Bellamont, and you were right about the dream part: _he _was there, in some sort of forest. He just kept walking towards me, so when _your _hand touched my arm, _you _got my reaction."

His expression told me he was wondering at something, going over every detail and thinking about it again before coming to an answer. "Unfortunately, if it _was _him, you would actually need to be quicker than you already were," he explained, then scanned over my disappointed expression, "Saying that, it would have been a kill, _if _you'd acted in the place of thought. Though it's lucky that you didn't this time - "

"Wait," I interrupted, picking up on one thing very interesting, "Are you saying that _you know _how he fights?"

I said this so assertively that Lucien was quite taken aback by this suddenly posed question, his eyes shifting once or twice with an indication of being unsure; no-one is really used to _my_ spontaneity.

"I know the important techniques to overcome, if ever it came to that, as I do most of the recruits in Cheydinhal," he replied, continuing when I gave him an expectant stare - I wanted a concise explanation; "But yes, _he _is one that I remember: if there had ever been a traitor then I wanted to know who the strongest of them were."

I was driven by the terror from both real and imaginary experiences of this man, and also by the daunting notion that we _were _going to face him at what seemed like any time. We would face him and whoever else he had persuaded to join him in this false hunt for a so-called traitor. After seeing a montage of each fact fly through my mind, I came to an answer.

"Then show _me,_" I declared, "How to fight him, I mean."

He didn't look surprised that I'd asked, but slightly hesitant all the same. "Do you mean _now_?"

I found myself giving a devious smile at the thought of Bellamont's suffering, feeling my eyes light up in anticipation. "Why _not _now? We both agree he has to die, and soon, so if I can know how then I'm not waiting for it."

Lucien scanned over my face, acceptance of my determination quickly becoming apparent as he sighed in resignation; but he wasn't putting me off this one. "Alright," he answered, pushing himself up from the ground, dusting the remaining snow from his robe, "His aims in combat are to stall and kill his opponent as soon as possible - that doesn't mean there's no brutality involved though."

"Doesn't matter," I replied in a dryly enthusiastic tone, standing in order to reach my sword which still lay in its sheathe next to the blanket.

Lucien was watching me with confused awe. "You really want him dead, don't you?"

"Don't _you_?" I asked sarcastically, playing on his last words. I continued only when I received an accepting smile, "I doubt that I want him dead _more_ than you do, but just one of us facing him won't do much good, _if _he's deadly as you say."

By this time I'd picked up the sheathe, and then drawn the blade from it as I finished my sentence; a sharp metallic ring sounding out with its swipe over the leather binding. I dropped the sheathe to the ground, keeping the sword by my side until instructed otherwise.

Lucien still didn't fully engage with my attitude to learning. "Bellamont's combat is admirable to say the least: unpredictable and controlled as one," he explained with a twang of disdain, then a deep sigh as he turned to pick up his own sword leant against a single rock. "I can _mirror _it easily, but it will be no comparison to the original."

"Come on, Lucien," I said, almost having to beg him to start now, "If I _don't _know then he and his lackeys could have us _both _killed."

He paused, then looked over his shoulder at me. His shadowed eyes under the black hood were indiscernible in feeling, but the dark intensity of the gaze itself could not be denied; it was fixed almost indefinitely to mine, so deeply that it seemed possible for him to read my mind up close, to make a comparison of both our thoughts before his conclusion to my request was voiced. For tens seconds or so it didn't seem as though we would move from this surreal void of silence, but as soon as he broke our eye contact - looking down in pondering - I felt the need to return to that state of calm; as though the rest of the world around this space wasn't able to interfere.

That wishing was ended when he turned back to me again, holding both the sword and the dagger I'd thrown away earlier. He pulled in my attention by prompting only with his eyes that he was planning to fling it back towards me; I caught it just by its hilt, having to step sideways with haste in case it _had _hit me. I gave him a lenient glare alongside a questioning raise of my eyebrows: _'Why did you do that exactly?' _

"You'll need to be just as prepared for any one of his strikes; he won't care whether you're expecting it or not," Lucien explained in a grave manner, but still with the intention of helping.

I slid the dagger back into the small sheathe tied to the belt as he stepped closer in my direction, slowly adopting a different outward persona: de-personalising himself from Bellamont's actions.

"Unexpected is something I'm used to," I replied, with maybe a little too much pride coming through.

"That _is _true," Lucien agreed with a subconscious rise of one eyebrow with his usual half-smile, "But be that as it may - "

When he was in about an arm's length of me, his sentence halted abruptly, and before I'd even noticed the movement, the artistically etched silver blade was already on a collision course with my right shoulder - though luckily the one which had the thick leather guard over it, held with a strap around me. I took one step back to strengthen my parry against the impact, and my sword horizontally in the other's path, fortifying this with my other hand's palm against the flat of the blade. The sound as they struck was far more a chime than dull ring, though a single spark flickered up from the scraping metal. The force was not overly compensating on my part, but had enough to activate the survival mode I relied on: instinctively I pushed back after just a second had passed, Lucien's surprised expression recoiling as he was thrown backwards a few staggered steps. I could say that the only expression on my face was that of excited triumph, eyes widening with a sense of eagerness.

"I suppose it doesn't hurt to practice," he finished, taking a breath with an edge of further preparation, composing himself before continuing, "You need to remember that each strike from _him _is guaranteed to cut deeply. _Everything _he does is crafted to slow you down, and it's nearly impossible to dodge all that's thrown at you."

"Those people in his cellar certainly found _that _out," I remarked unconsciously, forgetting entirely that he didn't know about _them._

With an extremely confused expression, he met my anxious eyes. "What people?"

"There were…a few bodies down there - badly tortured bodies," I explained, my voice breaking once or twice, "I didn't tell you because you were pretty paranoid as it was; I didn't want to say that the person coming for us already owned a make-shift crypt. Somehow I knew it wouldn't go down well. After that, I think I just ignored the whole fact of its existence.

"What injuries they had though, seemed like experiments; saved pieces of artwork, or something," I went on, my mind only half aware of what I was saying. "After reading that journal, I realised they were just punch bags, substitutes for…"

I swallowed and trailed off as the images of that time - could I believe it was only three nights ago? - flashed on and off in my head. Lucien, though, appeared to be unaffected by this revelation of psychopathic tendencies as he concluded my sentence.

"Substitutes for me, you mean?"

"Well…yes, mainly," I answered with a sense of cowardice: even when the context was known, I decided that my voice couldn't be trusted to meet those requirements. "First I knew you were being threatened by the same person, then I…_found _what he planned on doing; I was frightened mostly of what he was capable of rather than Bellamont himself. I wanted to fight him, but I couldn't without a face to a name - or no name, in that case."

"But you know now," he stated as a question.

Hesitantly, I nodded a couple of times, but then paused in a new thought.

"Then why are you still afraid?"

"If I continue fearing, then I won't underestimate him," I responded quickly, not seeing the point of thinking about something I knew how to say, "So are you going to carry on showing me how to do that?"

Lucien's countenance went from one of empathy to a sure breakout of an alluring smile in agreement, eyes softly analysing me while I spoke. Even if he tried, I couldn't see there being a time when the word 'beautiful' wasn't a word in describing any one of his expressions. That was just my opinion, of course, but it was no less true.

I never told him that fear had first begun with a fierce concern for his safety: if I hadn't have been aware of just how much danger Lucien was in, I probably would have attacked Bellamont when he was distracted in the cellar. Of course, now I knew how foolish that would have been of me, but my fear had not all been for myself at that time. If I had been killed, Lucien's life would be put highly at stake, and he'd probably think that I had abandoned him; that he had not been mistaken in his judgement in the first place. The small and seemingly professional attitude had ascended now to a far more personal feeling: instead of simply defending a figurehead of the Dark Brotherhood, I now wanted to defend a _person_ - someone I had got to know more in the last few days than ever before.

"Nothing rattles _you_, does it?" he began equivocally; different connotations running parallel in that one phrase. He stepped towards me, but not forwards - more like the beginning of circling an opponent - as his tone grew serious; "If you want to learn, just be aware that I _could _hurt you in the process."

"And I might get _you _hurt - so your point, unfortunately, has no impact," I replied with a joking smirk to keep him motivated to move, rather than submitting to any warning of pain. If it wasn't being committed with malice, then I didn't much care; I had developed my once pitiful threshold of pain to hold out against almost anything.

Lucien smiled at me, but his eyes were somewhere else entirely. "Alright," he finally agreed officially, taking a prepared stance just six feet in front of me before he halted. "I'll tell you when to start."

"I thought the point was that I was meant to be unprepar - "

I didn't finish yet another flirtatious sentence: I became too preoccupied with dodging and parrying rapid sword swings. I suppose he _had _made his point. Talking had made me ever more relaxed, not aware that I'd have to lose that attitude at any time in the near future, though I really should have been.

Lucien wasn't lying when he said Bellamont's attack style was fast; I think that I was only able to keep pace twice before he disarmed me the first time.

"Damn it," I breathed, frustrated at myself for losing so easily, "Again."

He obeyed my demand and placed the hilt of my sword back into my outstretched hand. No sooner had I gripped it that I had to block another strike, which I managed more successfully than the last. The sparring was highly unpredictable, and I had no clue how I was able to meet each hit dished out at me, though only a minute into this I was starting to fall short.

As Lucien noticed this, he waited for an instant where my parry slipped, then forced his left arm under my right, spinning me so quickly around that I lost my footing and dropped the longsword. As I fell, he had pulled my arm around his neck, but held the wrist in a firm grip on his left shoulder. I would have been trying to pry him off of me, but the silver blade was angled like an icicle against my throat, leaving my other hand nothing to do but keep me from toppling over. I'd try to stand, but I'd been pulled to the ground, still sitting upright with my back against him.

I felt faint apprehension, even when I knew he meant me no harm, but the muscles in my upper back were being pulled to the point of discomfort now, and my instinctive struggling was rendered futile as it only made it worse. I clenched my fist in annoyance and distraction, as I always had done, but even that hurt due to the pressure on my arm.

Eventually I surrendered, falling back against him with my head just under his jaw, breathing heavily. Lucien, on the other hand, didn't let up all that easily, keeping his forceful hold on me with the sword at my neck. Even a slight touch of that could cause a scrape, so I leant my head back further and turned towards his face - no distance at all between us - searching at least for a little assurance that slicing my throat was not _really _his intention.

"Sometimes, during some combat sessions, I showed up when there was nothing else to be done," he explained, his voice low, threatening and calm at my ear. Even the manner he was acting in reminded me of Bellamont; putting me on edge was probably his intention as he continued, "_This _is how he won, and I can tell you now that when we found the Family members who were murdered, the same angle of wound accompanied them."

"And you…didn't even suspect him…then?" I strained to ask in between breaths.

"We only knew it was someone on the inside, but not him exactly," he went on, "Now it's confirmed, I _need _you to know how to get out of this, or even avoid it completely."

I was powerless to do anything but listen, and the very idea of being in this situation at the hands of Bellamont - at the hands of someone so controlling; so domineering - was the most frightening aspect. Not even the injuries I could sustain filled me with more fear than that.

I slowly took Lucien's unspoken advice: I erased the knowledge that it was him, replacing him with the image of Bellamont. My breathing steadied, I was tense again, but in preparation rather than submissive terror. Shut my eyes in order to focus all this into motivation.

"What…is it I do then?" I responded in determination.

I felt him turn his head towards me, his forehead on the side of mine; comforting, yet with more care in that one movement than I could have expected. It felt as though Bellamont _did _have me in his grasp, but Lucien was the voice in my head, deep in my subconscious willing me to make my move.

"You can't pull directly forward: he'd most likely dislocate your shoulder," he casually explained, "No trying to stand either - you'd be forced back so hard that your spine could fracture. A hairline fracture, but serious if any more pressure was applied. Who knows how it would affect you if he pulled back on your hair…"

"Lucien…_please,_ get to the point," I demanded through gritted teeth, making my abhorrence vocally obvious. "And for the record, a shoulder…dislocation isn't the _worst _threat in my experience."

He hesitated momentarily. "If this ever happens, don't dare take a second thought about escape," he uttered calmly, "He's lost stability just as you have, so if you can do it fast enough, make a movement as though beginning a roll; do _not _let the arm around his neck go slack - you'll need it to throw him to the floor, and hopefully he'll be shocked enough for you to pin him down yourself."

I nodded, but then thought of something. "What about the…knife at my throat?"

"He'll abandon it over the need to stop the fall," Lucien replied without time for an excuse to be constructed, and I trusted his judgement. "There were other options I thought of, but none as effective in the way of survival - only delay.

"Ready to try it yet?"

"Sorry?" I spluttered pitifully, making an attempt to turn to him as my eyes flew open. "On you?"

He smiled at how utterly stupid that last question sounded. "Who else?"

"Right," I mumbled with uncertainty: so much for my 'battle talk' beforehand. "Could you…possibly _not _have the sword for this?"

Slowly and carefully, he manoeuvred the blade away from my throat and dropped it to the ground at my side.

The arm still around the back of his neck was not faring well, even when he had loosened the grip on my wrist a little, enough for me to relax it at least. But its muscles had begun to stiffen with strain and the bitter air's bite, so I was just as determined to get out of this as I would had it really been Bellamont.

His empty hand returned to my throat, his thumb under my jaw in the place of the blade as the other fingers closed gently around the back of my neck, mostly to support my head which had become uncomfortable even leaning back. At the same time, I felt the gradual tightening around my wrist as Lucien reapplied the tension on the arm I was going to use in order to throw him to the ground. I had more than a feeling that this was going to hurt us both just the same.

Without wasting any time, I kept my arm rigid and started to propel myself with my free hand, still flat against the frost covered rock floor. At the same time, I regained the control of my legs, and was planning to continue forwards, but realised something; a flaw in this movement: I could lose balance and fall sideways, but if that _didn't _happen, and I did manage to throw him down, I couldn't see any way that I would be able to retaliate quickly enough if he chose not to _stay _down.

As a result of this idea, and my position at the time, I simply took advantage: in a split second, I rolled to my right instead, catching hold of his wrist as I did. Sure enough, the hand at my throat retreated while he was in mid-fall, but I was able to grab that wrist as well with my left hand, pulling him to the ground beside me before I had both his arms pinned on either side of him.

Panting and bemused by the sudden change of strategy, Lucien gazed up at me both in shock and a developing admiration as he relented in strength. In honesty, the only thing I felt was a certain amount of triumph that I'd actually beaten him in spite of how difficult he'd made that out to be.

"I suppose that…_also_ works quite well," he concluded, his breathing stabilising, "Maybe you're right where that's concerned."

I blinked in surprise. "A man who admits he's wrong?" I mocked, "Do you actually exist in this realm?"

"I never said I was _wrong_," he replied warmly, smiling as he continued, "I simply stated that you were…more right."

He almost ended that sentence as a question, struggling a little for a charming answer before I returned a flattered expression.

"I'm not sure if that's grammatically correct, Lucien," I humorously remarked, "So I'm not letting you up until you _do _get that answer perfect."

Lucien sighed and rolled his eyes, which I would take to be insolence from anyone else, but who else would still have a smile on their face during that reaction? I suppose the term 'social norms' meant nothing to either of us.

After a few seconds of fake annoyance, he tilted his head back towards me with what I could only describe as the best 'puppy-eyed' expression I'd seen in a long time. The only problem was that he couldn't quite keep a straight face while doing that.

"I was wrong; you were right," he stated seriously, despite the fact that this was just a farce.

"And _that, _dear Speaker, is how you gain female favour," I responded almost playfully, smiling and releasing my hold afterwards, sitting beside him then as he gradually pushed up off of the ground.

Only after being back in a normal position for a few moments was I aware of a discomforting ache that shot through my neck as well as the upper half of my right arm. It was so immediate, so suddenly unbalancing, that my automatic reaction was futile: my other hand flew towards the source of pain, yet the arm that was actually _in pain _couldn't hold me up, and consequently allowing me to keel over, right on to it.

I was probably muttering obscenities under my breath - most of the time it came so naturally that I was never aware of what I said - because as Lucien reached my angry and helpless form, he had the same smile on his face as when I showed my disregard for the tavern girl in Helgen.

"I probably should have warned you about that," he commented apologetically.

"'_Probably'?" _I spat, despite his intended kindness, "You don't _probably _warn someone that their arm is going to lose power. How would - "

I was going to finish with 'you feel?', but that didn't happen. Instead, his left hand was on my floored shoulder, and he had lifted me upright within two seconds. In that time, the pain had ceased, replaced by a strange warmth and relaxation in my muscles. I could only stare back at him quizzically as he studied my expression with glistening eyes. Almost immediately, he took note of the obvious unspoken question.

"It's just a Calm spell," he explained, only pausing to withdraw his hand; his fingers lightly and slowly brushed over my other hand, still where the ache had been, eyes acknowledging the briefest moment of lingering before catching my gaze again. "Applying directly acts like a healing spell, but not for any wounds, just muscle strain."

"Well, um…thanks," I replied, attempting to stifle a yawn. "That meant to make you tired as well?"

Lucien gave me a grin, but certainly one of the most elegant I'd seen. "Just coincidence, I believe," he answered as I returned the smile. "You want to continue?"

I knew full well that he was referring to combat training, but one part of my mind had a blank moment, as though the juxtaposition of his tone and context had finally tricked it into a different belief system. If his voice was any smoother, and if this plain snowy hill was another location, say that inn we rejected, a whole new situation would be playing out.

I may have lingered over that for a few seconds, hence my slight delay of any reply, before real life kicked me in the head again. I had to say, that Calm spell he'd used wasn't just having an effect on muscles…and perhaps I'd not been out with someone in a long time.

As soon as I had surpassed that slight lapse of concentration - which luckily didn't last enough time to make anything awkward for too long - I subtly cleared my throat and raised my eyes up to his, still gazing expectantly at me.

"Mmhmm," I uttered with a nod, "Sure; yeah."

Whatever had been wandering in my mind was immediately shaken out when the look of an interrogator was facing me, surveying me as though he could take a glimpse straight through my own eyes; like I was a translucent being instead of solid.

"What is it?" he asked, resting the side of his head against one hand.

I felt the beginning of a hot flush, as if he _had _seen right through me, but the bitter surroundings quite thankfully prevented it. "Nothing, really."

While trying to be sure of myself, I only sounded worse. Within another minute though, I truly was alright again, and actively parrying more potentially fatal sword strikes in my direction.

Lucien went over how to disarm Bellamont as quickly as possible, explaining everything in a calm and controlled manner while the battle movements remained swift, though not so unexpected as the time went on.

In the first few instances I was making mistakes, or possibly not doing everything he was telling me to, which I regretted - or begrudged - just seconds later when my blade was clattering to the ground or I had been floored yet again. Every time, my determination increased, and I decided to _fully _accept that his judgement was correct; yet even when I took his advice into account, still on the majority of tests he was winning.

I realised that my flaw was _not _imagining Bellamont there, in Lucien's place. Maybe if I was able to do that again, like the first time, overcoming a disarm would eventually be easy. When the idea that the feigned killing blows being dealt enhanced the fact that I'd have no second chance at improving, my body as well as my mind would start paying attention; reacting as I intended.

I paused, actually stopped dead in front of him with my eyes down, constructing whatever fortifications I needed to master this: I asked to learn, and I wasn't going to make myself look like I couldn't handle anything more taxing than a wood elf with some enchanted arrows in Bravil. Okay, maybe that was a disrespectful thought about the ex-Listener, but revered as that position was, Ungolim had been a rather easy target.

I came to the motivation which was the first to materialise in my head, almost immediate in its timing: forget that Bellamont just _wanted _Lucien dead - I needed to put myself in the situation where that had come to pass. I had to realistically go through how that would happen, then get the emotions that would relate to that; I had references to both those things in abundance. I skimmed over the created event, but it was still powerful enough to feed from.

When it came back to the next strike of training, I was far more prepared; the raw yet false feelings transitioned through to a quick disarm, whereby I was able to diagonally block his sword and twist it to the ground. By threatening slightly to cut the thumb on the hilt, he reluctantly released it before stepping back once, away from the blade now pointing at his throat. Surprisingly, I received what looked like an impressed smile in the midst of his initial shock.

I couldn't return it though: if I allowed this newly adopted demeanour to slide, there was no way that I'd do as well as I had this time around.

He repeated the same attack three more times, probably checking for himself that my resistance hadn't been a simple fluke, but I managed to prove that idea wrong on each occasion. He then started again on the other attacks, and after a few issues, but not full defeats, I eventually overcame everything. By the time it had come full circle, and he tried the first again, I was completely prepared for it: I dodged his left arm and managed to disarm the other, grabbing the wrist so quickly that he let go of the hilt in a reaction of surprise before I forced him to the ground. He went to move the other arm, presumably to get free, but a blade tip to his throat convinced him otherwise.

The moment that he finally relinquished power, letting out a sigh of defeat, he was Lucien in my eyes again, not Bellamont.

I succumbed to the full triumph of this miniature victory, and seconds later I heard myself laughing; I promptly tried to stop it, but it was still escaping as I collapsed to the ground beside Lucien, whose breath was beginning to normalise.

"I didn't know learning how to kill people made you _that _happy," he commented with irony, contentedly studying my expression with a smile, face now turned towards me.

"Depends on the person," I continued, facing him, "And the teacher, I _suppose._"

I finished that sentence with sarcasm, like I was saying he was unimportant; shrugging him off in the process as I folded my arms across my chest. Lucien raised his eyebrows indignantly, falsely glaring at me for a few moments before neither of us could contain the short burst of laughter that came from non-existent contempt. I couldn't really tell which one of us had that smile creep in first: he had captured my gaze again, and so a lapse of full concentration was inevitable.

This couldn't have lasted more than five seconds but, yet again, it seemed like so much more time. There were some sections of stray black hair, which had come loose from the knotted fabric holding it back, now coasting out of place over the otherwise tidily kempt strands of obsidian; only serving to make him appear all the more flawless.

At some point, a different light reflected in his eyes, subtle yet noticeable enough for me to realise that this change was not entirely deliberate; not planned. It wasn't a negative alteration, not by any means, just different. The warmth and kindness in his eyes were somehow magnified, yet contemplation had taken over his expression. Exactly what he was thinking was usually unclear, but this was even more so.

He continued gazing at me, but was somewhere entirely distant, playing through a scenario in his head while he remained in the real world. It was something I was able to replicate often, even when I was _talking _directly to someone, yet never as quickly as Lucien had just done.

I caught his eyes again as the haze lifted slightly, silently interrogating his devoid concentration. The same emotions remained, though I imagined that it was the confusion of being pulled out of a daydream that dispersed them. Speech seemed to be forming then, hesitant as it was. His mouth opened for a half-second, about to speak, but I saw a glimmer in the depths of his vision that pulled back; his eyes broke trance and lowered, blocking his sight from me entirely as he turned his head away, facing up towards the cave roof with a temporary demeanour of solitude.

While Lucien appeared to be distracting himself, this very thing was distracting _me _again. I had been left in a state of anticipation and confusion over these words, even when I had no clue of any intention behind them. I may have been extremely quizzical, but when I looked closely at Lucien's response, he was more confused in himself than I could ever be.

"What is it?" I questioned, propping myself up on my elbows.

Almost immediately as he heard my voice, his eyes darted in my direction, an unexpected submission which I caught a glimpse of floating away in the moment I met them. He was suddenly calm and collected, but behind that was a constant edge. Well, an edginess, really; as though I'd just threatened him to answer a crucial question. It wasn't a natural reaction, nor was it understandable why this was the response to a relatively simple inquiry.

"We should head off soon," he replied, though it sounded rehearsed, "If we can reach Kynesgrove before nightfall, then it will only be another day's ride to Riften."

"Kynesgrove?"

Lucien casually pushed himself up to a sitting position, not making nearly the same amount of eye contact with me as before. "It's a mining town South of Windhelm, on a direct road through Eastmarch," he continued, "It's not _far _away, but we could be losing light by then."

I nodded a few times in a suddenly subdued manner; if my head had picked up on anything at all, it was not making that message very clear. It seemed that I was left in the dark most times by myself rather than other people. I couldn't remember that happening before, not when I still had my quiet, normal life. It probably had everything to do with becoming so stoic, so cut off from feeling anything in that prison.

I still knew what people were feeling, obviously, but if certain things were left so ambiguous, deciphering precisely what they meant was a little trickier than it had been. I probably knew what Lucien was thinking, unconsciously that is, but if at least some of that information surfaced, perhaps it would become easier: he had a talent for putting someone off a trail, yet hadn't quite grasped how to make it look non-existent. Whatever I was pretending not to be paying attention to was clearly more than prevalent hiding behind an honest lie.

He smiled at my expression, but didn't detect the accustomed stranger of disappointment behind it. That guest seemed far too comfortable in my conscience to leave, but relentlessly unsociable as I continued not to acknowledge why and when it arrived.

* * *

The pale landscape of the tundra didn't seem to end as the cobbled roadway went on, winding only down as the mountains either side of us increased the distance between them; a new and previously unseen sapphire blue forcing its way through the dispersing clouds filled with snow. If this temperature which the uncovered sun now brought had been in Cyrodiil, or Morrowind even, I would have complained rigorously of how cold it was. Skyrim, on the other hand, could be considered tropical after the bitter winds of frost the night before.

The breeze had died down, and the gloom had finally lifted. The place actually had a pleasant atmosphere for once, replacing the sense of it being a bleak, harsh rock that we were using to hide under. When I realised again that people really chose to make their homes here, I think a spark of understanding ignited in my mind. I, at long last, had caught sight of what beauty the land held, now literal and metaphorical fog had cleared from my judgement.

I hadn't even spoken since we had set off. I wasn't concentrating on how long ago that had been, but the Inn and band of Imperials were far behind us. I could swear that the three of them were discussing something to do with us as we'd got down to the stable. The way they'd tried to hide the fact that they'd turned to stare was quite obviously meant to be a secret, so much that they might as well have been taking part in a badly acted farce. The one I had recognised was probably telling his friends how he'd fearlessly faced down Lucien, and then got scared that he would actually show up and prove this version of events wrong. Either way, they sidled away without so much as a threat. Suspicious?: maybe. A danger at present?: it didn't seem likely.

At the moment, the most risky element of our location was only that the sun was on its way to falling below the horizon, the blue of the sky beginning to contrast with the bright edges of the cloud wisps. Sunset itself couldn't happen another couple of hours though: I hadn't believed it to be that late in the afternoon when we left. Lucien seemed to be more than calm about it though, so didn't really have much of a choice but to trust that he knew what he was doing. If I hadn't have had my eyes fixated by pine trees and quartz-like slopes, perhaps I would have been a little more up tight.

"What's High Rock like?" I asked absent-mindedly.

Lucien tilted his head back slightly, enough to keep an eye both on the road and to address me. "You mean in comparison to this?" he almost joked, then looked back at the landscape, "Well, as the name suggests, there are a lot of rocks there. Some places are worth mentioning, though they're mostly man-made. Personally, I don't think it has any claim to compare with Skyrim _or _Cyrodiil.

"Why do you ask, anyway?"

"Just curious again, I suppose," I answered, smiling at my own repetitive response. "I used to read about all the different provinces, wishing I could visit somewhere other than one covered in volcanic ash; nothing but giant toadstools for miles and miles. But I knew that for all that time I'd probably never leave: I'm too opposed to what I see as normal."

"And how are you finding it now?" he questioned, the smile easily heard in his voice as he tried to lift the subject mood even a little.

"Hmm," I began, pausing with a mocking tone as though I was going to finish with something intellectual instead of: "A bit cold."

Lucien laughed at that; a deep, ringing and entirely genuine laugh. "At least that's honest," he continued, "I'd say that where I lived was just rather vapid for my taste."

It occurred to me that he hadn't actually made it specific as to where this town was. But, then again, I hadn't asked him at all.

"Where did you exactly live then?" I inquired, truly intrigued, "I mean, other than just 'in High Rock'."

"One of those towns outside an important city; one that no one mentions when they talk about the area," he explained, keeping a gentle and lulling tone in his tone in his voice; "North-West of Wayrest, in Menevia County - a spread out place called Greycroft."

"Doesn't sound too thrilling."

"It wasn't," he replied with a silky chuckle, "It was home though."

I smiled distantly in recognition. "I get that," I remarked, "The town even before our farm was a pretty depressing sight, but, yeah: it was home."

Neither of us needed to elaborate: we both knew what we meant. There were different memories attached to each, so why would we need to explain ourselves? There really was no need to. After a few moments of silence, Lucien spoke again.

"So what town did _you _come from?"

"I really don't remember its name; I'm not sure if I can remember it even _having _one," I said, knowing that it didn't sound like a legitimate answer. "I only know that it was close to Narsis - that was where we bought most things."

"That's the darker version of Mournhold, isn't it?"

"That's the one."

"Then I believe I know where that is," Lucien responded knowingly, "If it's the same place I'm seeing, then yes, it's pretty depressing."

This sarcastic yet satirical tone was not something that I was familiar with at all, but expectedly, this side of him was nothing but flattering on his behalf; and it was my turn to laugh as we carried on through the Pale.

I wasn't sure exactly how much time had passed between then and coming across the mill by the river. Lucien and I had just talked for all of it, idly discussing almost anything that came to mind, from random people we used to know, almost all with some sort of comical reason for being so suddenly memorable, to interests or hobbies we once had; _still _had in our heads. I couldn't remember the last time I'd spoken so comfortably to someone for so long.

I found out that he had actually thought of doing something related to art, since he did sketches, paintings, that sort of thing. I told him that murder still required quite a high level of creativity, to which he humorously agreed.

As for me, I had never been sure, but I felt that I'd never choose to trade the Dark Brotherhood, even if I had wanted to do something else. I had never received much encouragement anyway; my parents left me to reading, and occasional short story writing, but nothing that anyone seemed to have any hopes about for me. Rather insulting, I thought, saying continuously that I probably needed to 'think about something more practical.' I wished that they would have come right out said that they didn't think writing would make much money, or even the reason of pride that was hidden behind my mother's words: '_none of my family have made a living doing that.'_ I loved her, of course I did, but the lack of respect she had for people with 'un-practical' professions made me despair on a daily basis. I wasn't even sure what she classed as practical, anyway.

I had definitely dwelled on that for a while in the conversation.

So, after a couple of miles of Shadowmere's walking pace, the sky now a threatening rose tint and darkening briskly by each half hour, we came to a mill; most likely only recently put up, seeing as there was nearly no weathering to the wooden structure, as well as a few building materials still left lying around the stony foundation of the lumber saw building. Nearby, outside of a simple wooden house with smoke from the chimney already wafting - silhouetted - through the lethargic breeze, was a woman carrying a small pile of chopped wood to the ajar front door. She turned her head in acknowledgement of hearing Shadowmere's hooves on the freshly cobbled path before she continued on with taking the wood inside.

Lucien almost didn't have to pull the reins back at all as Shadowmere halted, shaking some fallen snow from her mane before I dismounted, pleased to be standing again. Lucien landed softly beside me a moment later, gazing dissatisfactory up at the sky.

"Clearly we're not getting to Kynesgrove anytime soon," he paused, then looked towards me, "There's only one place I have in mind from here, but we're going to need firewood."

"Yeah, I guessed that," I replied, then folded my arms as a wispy drift of snow was blown in our direction; I pulled my hood forward again so that it shielded the sides of my face.

Lucien gave a smile that seemed impressed, but it wasn't discernable in this light.

Before we could talk any more, I heard the door of the house open again, tuning my attention to it seconds before Lucien. The woman had emerged from the warm light of the fire inside, the glint of a sword in her belt now as she began trudging nimbly towards us.

"Think you can charm a lower price out of someone _this _time?" I uttered with playful challenge.

He tilted his head sideways slightly, raising one eyebrow as a half-smile crept in to view. "I'd like to think so," he replied smoothly, mirroring my own tone.

He moved forward as his eyes left mine, the edgeless robe appearing to let him glide along the ground as it skimmed over his footprints in the thin layer of snow fall. As he reached the woman, she gave exactly the same reaction as he prompted from most other people: spontaneous smile which was attempting to be masked, moving stray sections of dark hair behind her ears, if a bit frantically, et cetera. Lucien must have referred to me in whatever story he had effortlessly made up on the spot, because she hesitantly broke her gaze with him to look in my direction, where I was holding Shadowmere's reins loosely in one hand. I nodded with an acknowledging smile at her, as she returned it. But, as she turned back to Lucien, something in the bright blue eyes, which I could see even from the distance between us, altered gradually, yet drastically.

As she kept listening to him, she glanced back at me, a thought or idea in her head surfacing from the deep. Just the now-forced smile and look in her eyes was making me uncomfortable, studied under her stare, if only for the briefest of moments. Shadowmere moved her head around, curious as to what was going on, nudging the back of my shoulder with a snuffling sound; I was able to turn my eyes away from the woman anyway.

First that look from the Imperial soldiers, now her as well? Someone I hadn't even seen before. I knew why they could be acting like that, but her: not a clue. I glanced back, and noticed immediately that Lucien's effect had quickly run its course, and underneath the amiable shell she had put on there was a definite uneasiness about her. Underneath _this _was something else entirely, yet far too muddled it seemed to pinpoint anything of significance. It might just have been that any people showing up near dark was a risk in itself, hence retrieving the sword, but I wasn't picking up on any real fear of that: she would have been more timid to begin with. Something was off about this.

I was so busy concentrating that the sudden outburst that came next could have been enough to make me quite literally jump out of my skin.

"A pony!" the voice of a very young girl squealed as she darted past her mother, causing Lucien to double back a few steps in the fear of being knocked over. From the look on his face, he didn't appear too pleased with the presence of the uncontrollable small thing either.

"Frida! Come back here!" the woman called, both panicked and stern.

The girl halted, frowning, and then crossed her arms as defiantly as he could manage before she pivoted towards her mother. "But mama…"

"I said no," the woman continued, keeping a quiver in her voice back, "Just come back here, sweetheart. Go inside."

The girl stole a fleeting glance back at Shadowmere, who had taken a few shocked steps back for her own safety, ears pricked with her head held high, then walked sulkily back towards her door. Her mother, on the other hand, couldn't take her eyes off of Shadowmere.

"That's a very…_unusual _horse," she commented, not really sure how that would work to break the silence.

Lucien, in turn, gazed over to the horse that this woman was staring so fearfully at, an expression of pride – almost – at the word 'unusual'. "She's from Morrowind, as is her owner over there," he falsely explained, his eyes flitting over mine for a moment as he continued; "She's quite beautiful, isn't she?"

The woman's eyes sped back to him. "_Horses _have…red eyes in Morrowind?"

"I suppose they must," he answered calmly, turning back to her. "Listen, about that firewood…"

Despite repeating this request in his most charming voice, the woman still remained frenzied. "Oh, um, yes of course," she stammered, throwing Lucien a little off track, "There's a pile just over there. You can take however much you want. They're free to take, I mean, I'd probably ask you to pay if you'd chopped them yourself, but, well…you can just take some with you."

By Sithis, she was in a panic. Lucien had absolutely no opportunity to even assure her we weren't bandits or the like, before she turned tail back to the house, pushing the door swiftly to a close behind her.

Bewildered, Lucien and I made eye contact, the same question passing between us without a word.

"That was…" I began, then trailed off, knowing he'd be thinking the same.

"Strange, I know," he finished quizzically, still taking in her behaviour. "Do you have any idea why?"

"I think if she's that paranoid all the time, I feel sorry for Frida," I replied sarcastically. We both knew that we couldn't guess at the real reason, so came to a joking compromise.

The firewood, about seven long pieces, was bundled into the rolls of blankets before we left the mill, watched the whole time by that woman at the window, I imagined. At the end of the narrow path was the edge of a steep drop down to the foot of the waterfall from the river running alongside us. We turned right, towards an old stony bridge to the other side of the water; a bank of dry soil and lightly laid snow; a dense stretch of pine trees along the left fork in the road. Instead, we took another right, directing us up a soft gradient slope, around again until this path was running parallel to the mill we had just walked away from.

We went up yet another slope, swerving around to the left. It wasn't the steepest, but Shadowmere had to speed up and use that little bit more force to reach the visible path again; though that was nothing more than trodden in dust where the snow hadn't laid.

She managed almost without effort to reach it, and as she did, the sky appeared as though right in front of us, the stars beginning to break through the deep indigo hue that was fading quickly in to black. I couldn't stop myself from gazing marvelously up at it, so I wasn't particularly concentrating on where we were going for a while.

When I did decide to pay attention, there were walls of rock either side of us, a short passage through the rising cliffs to the right; probably a border between Holds. Ahead, down another soft slope, was a cluster of pine trees around a dip in the landscape, a faint lap of water faintly audible as we got closer, Shadowmere now trotting down the little hill. Surrounding this miniature reserve of land were just more vast slopes of snow and an uninhabited fort on one side, and one other path which led away; most likely towards where we had originally planned. Other than that, it wasn't a particularly significant location. Suited us.

We moved around to the thickest part of the pond's bank, also where the trees would act as the best shelter. The moment Lucien and I got to the ground, Shadowmere bolted straight for the water, her nose shoved into it with a snoozling sound.

"Mara's Eye Pond," Lucien stated wistfully, in between a laugh at Shadowmere, "I doubt they would think we'd be anywhere with the name of one of the Divines."

I smiled in agreement as he moved over to Shadowmere, about to take the supplies from her saddle. "Very true," I replied, "But you are _completely _certain of that, aren't you?"

Lucien turned back and placed the blanket rolls on the ground while his eyes were continuously fixed on me. "If they're not looking for it, they will _not _find it," he continued, slowly approaching as he spoke, "_I _only found it by chance."

"Hiding from guards, I suppose?"

He laughed in slight disbelief. "I wonder how you guessed _that_," he remarked alluringly, looking almost directly into my eyes as his head tilted forward, a certain intensity seeping into his gaze like honey.

As he stopped in front of me, arms casually folded, this look remained for a few seconds more before he turned his eyes down, but with a lingering smile; withdrawn but upheld by something more.

"So, are we setting up camp or not?" I mimicked, bringing him back around.

Lucien's eyes gracefully rolled up to meet mine again, a charming grin still evident. "And there as me believing you'd _never _ask," he mocked in a clichéd manner, turning back towards the bags on Shadowmere's saddle as I started for the blankets.

I may not have been entirely perceptive of what he felt, but within just thirty seconds it seemed Lucien's mood or attitude had wavered, a disenchantment of some kind on par with this new side to him. Whatever had caused one thing to surface had surely emphasised the other at the same time. I couldn't help but sense familiarity behind this in more ways than one.


	8. Ch 8:Cloudless Midnight, Shrouded Shadow

**Chapter 8**

**Cloudless Midnight, Shrouded Shadow**

"Do you mind if I ask _you _something?" Lucien inquired amidst the silence which had washed over our previous conversation.

He was leaning nonchalantly against the trunk of one of the pine trees that were half-encircling us, arms loosely rested across him. The spark in his eyes was one of curiosity as his gaze settled on me over the rising embers of the small fire between us.

"Sure," I answered, then partly hedged around it, "But I don't know what else we've got to cover in these interview sessions."

Lucien smiled, an almost devilish charm coming over him as his hazel eyes lowered, then re-entered the trance he'd created. "I just find it rather hard to believe that there wasn't any one person in Morrowind you could have gone back to," he paused, probably realising that his phrasing wasn't quite right, "Someone who _cared_ about you, who could have helped you, at least."

He said this more as an interrogative than a statement, like the question he'd first planned hadn't escaped as words. He could see that it hadn't gone very well, so I decided to help him along.

"Lucien," I began, grabbing his attention, "Are you asking whether I consider myself _single_?"

He gave an unsure nod. "I suppose I am," he replied with a half-smile.

"Well, you're right in thinking we've not gone over _that _before," I added, an upbeat, calm tone in my voice so as not to make this awkward. "But, to answer that: yes. Have been for just over four years."

"Why's that?" he asked, head slightly tilted to one side.

"Probably because the last time was a disaster," I answered, fully prepared for a rant even when the subject was just hinted at, "I decided then that I couldn't be bothered for anyone who just wanted 'fun'; considering that was most of the men around I dismissed the concept entirely."

As I glanced sideways, back at Lucien, I saw immediately that he was grinning with silent amusement at my little outburst, to which I couldn't help but return the expression.

"Okay, so _maybe _I'm still bitter," I declared in self-mockery. After a few moments I rested my chin on to my hand and turned fully back to him; "Why the sudden interest, anyway?"

Lucien shrugged gently. "Just thought we needed a slightly more…_informal _choice of subject," he smiled, realising my gradual intrigue, "And I think it's your turn to ask a question."

He shifted forward, moving his arms to rest on one bent knee in front of him while his eyes shone with what seemed like infatuation. I was still attempting to come up with something, knowing that this new topic could only become that bit more interesting as it continued. A flirtatious smile crept onto my face as a question manifested in my mind.

"When was your last one?" I asked, "Relationship, that is."

Lucien took on a thoughtful demeanour, the recollection nearly visible through the reflection over his eyes. "Must be about the same time ago," he replied, an undeniable tone of dismissal in his answer, "Although she failed to tell me the rather important fact about her being married."

Without warning, I burst into laughter, to which Lucien looked quite confused.

"I'm sorry, _really _I am," I managed to say through fragmented giggling, "I'm just surprised that you of all people fell for _that _ trap. How long did she keep the falsity up?"

"Only about three months," he replied, though there wasn't much dismay in his tone about that, "By the time I had worked out that something was off, I looked into it myself, and sure enough I found out the truth.

"The next time she wanted to see me I couldn't show up for anyway: there were a few people who needed recruiting. Continuing to see her would simply be another complication to duties that the Dark Brotherhood expected, so I just stopped."

I raised my eyebrows with a disapproving glare at him. "You ended it and didn't even tell this woman about it face-to-face?" I remarked, speaking to him as if I were a parent, "You are _such _a man."

Lucien returned the expression, though couldn't quite keep a straight face. "There are so many worse words for _her_," he countered, about to explain further, "The next week she started an affair with a nearby farmer, so I assume she wasn't _too _affected."

The disapproval dropped for the most part as a stereotypical image of the woman came to mind. "Yeah, you're right: slut."

Lucien laughed at this boldness before I continued; "So how did _you _know she was with someone else?"

He smiled a little sadistically with recollection. "Because _he _got himself labelled as a contract," he continued, "Her husband happened to find out, thought it this man had been who she was seeing all along, and hired us to sort it out."

"Huh," I uttered with realisation, if perhaps digression, "Must be where Bellamont got the idea."

"What idea?"

"For the dead drop orders: he gave the same reasoning for killing Ungolim."

"Well, it was him who was sent out to do it; it would make sense," Lucien concluded, hate lining his tone; understandably, of course.

There was silence for a small while after that, each of us thinking of the next addition to this subject. Somehow, I was hoping that I wouldn't have to explain the miserable bunch of partners I'd had, but sure enough:

"So, who may I ask is this 'disaster' you mentioned?" Lucien opened, intrigued, leaning forward again with his chin on top of his hands; still rested on his leg.

Cautiously, and unsuccessfully, I attempted hedging. "You'll truly think I'm quite stupid."

His eyes glimmered amber with a new affection. "If _you _think it was stupid now, then clearly you're not that person any more," he explained with a calm prompting; reassurance with the purpose of garnering the information I hid, "So I will not think that _you _are quite stupid."

In return, I shook my head lightly and made a sound of disbelief. "By Sithis, you're good at this," I smiled turning back to him with a defeated yet positive expression, giving in to the explanation; "He was more like a rebound relationship. I was done with being manipulated by my previous boyfriend, so much so that I was with him for just over a year. I just needed reassurance that not everyone was either controlling or had anger issues."

Lucien appeared concerned, looking as though he was about to delve deeper into this subject, but recoiled, in debate with himself over whether that was a good idea. I simply smiled.

"You _can _ask," I assured, keeping the demeanour I had as light as possible, "I don't have a problem with _talking _about him, not with you, anyway."

I paused: I'd thrown myself off track. "Besides, I haven't seen him since - he went off to 'find himself' somewhere - hopefully down a hole."

Lucien peered back up, meeting my fired up glare at nothing as he returned a small smile. "I was just wondering whether we could have him killed, just for fun," he joked, masking the still present negativity he had for this man. Quite flattering, really: knowing anyone could want someone, who they didn't know, but you did, dead; "Practice _does _make perfect."

I made a sound of contempt and dismissal. "No-one's getting any practice in with _him_," I explained, waving the thought of him off, "He has worse combat skills than a newborn foal. The only weapon he has are words."

"Maybe someone has _already _had him murdered," Lucien reiterated, probably still wishing it, "He certainly sounds like the type who would get his name pinned to the Black Sacrament. What's his name, anyway?"

"Merlyn," I uttered sharply, as though he was nothing but a bitter taste which continued to linger, "He _did _seem charming at first, like he actually appreciated me. All a lie, of course.

"It was such a good lie though, that I once believed every word of it; I even thought I _loved _him, like I _thought _he loved _me._ Utter crap, though."

I looked back at Lucien, who had an expression of contemplation on his face. "Unfortunately, I've not heard of him before," he paused, then another lifting smile came onto his otherwise serious face, "I certainly hope that _you__'__re _the one who ended it."

"Of course it was," I stated proudly, "You could probably call that a type of crucible."

"How so?"

I smiled knowingly. "It's like you just said: I'm nowhere near the person I used to be," I continued, "That time simply brought out the cynic in me, underneath all the naivety waiting to say _'__I told you so.__'_

"My father actually had a saying for that sort of thing, but I hadn't understood it before then; he used to say that 'it always looks brightest before nightfall'. It can apply to most things, really."

Lucien nodded wistfully. "I think I agree with him entirely on that one," he responded, as though he'd realised some new philosophy of life, "I've just never heard it put to words before."

I smiled, then quickly decided to move away from this digression. "So, have you always been the person _I _know now?"

He met my eyes with a coaxing glance. "And what person is that?"

Now I was a little stumped: how did you answer something like that? What if I said something he wasn't even aware of - could that change how he approached aspects of his personality? Oh well, it was his question.

"I don't know," I began carefully, not yet making full contact with his eyes, "Confident, controlled, you've proven that you're caring - you're generally someone I approve of."

He laughed; a sound as refreshing as cool water. "That's good to know," he remarked flirtatiously, though his action of leaning back made him appear insecure, or perhaps embarrassed as his eyes fell towards the rippling water's surface. "I can't say that 'confident' was a word I'd use to describe the sixteen-year-old me though. No age before the Dark Brotherhood, in all honesty."

He paused in thought, then brightened eyes were back on me. "_That, _you could say, was _my _crucible."

I smiled in empathy, knowing precisely how he meant that. I wouldn't want to relive a lot of things, but if I knew what person I would be afterwards, then it would be an influence on what I'd be willing to endure. If I was still that naïve girl who first agreed to Merlyn's offer of a drink, yet know what I'd think of the world and people in the future, then I still would have accepted that offer. I'd come out of it as a better person, I thought.

As I focused again, another expression of curiosity had come onto Lucien's face. "I know that this is not a conventional question," he spoke hesitantly, the breathed deeply in, "But how old _are_ you, exactly?"

I was slightly puzzled. "You know, people usually only ask me that if it's my birthday or they're attempting to ask me out," I declared, then glanced pleasantly at him, "But since it's neither, I'm twenty-sev…twenty-_eight, _I mean."

I'd lost track of months, and had completely ignored the time I had spent in the Imperial Prison. Those five months had blurred so much into one that it just felt like a very long day in which I couldn't sleep. Even when I _was _asleep it felt as though another part of me was awake, _wide _awake at that. It was why I had become so alert, so attuned to small and otherwise insignificant noises. I'd learned that it could be a guard, it could have been Civello deciding to walk intoxicated around the cells again, barking derogatory insults at every female prisoner he passed. You _had _to be alert for that: if he didn't think you looked threatened or submissive enough when he addressed you, the sick bastard made you pay for it. I'd been taught that at the Dunmeth Pass, and again after a few weeks of being warned against resistance by everyone else.

The Dunmer man, Valen Dreth, who had been the one taking the guard's attention when I stole his keys, had made a rather…forward comment about having me moved over into his cell. _With _him, that is. I believe I told him to 'fuck off' respectively, before throwing a leftover bowl in his direction.

The guard on patrol at the time was a bit of a suck-up to the 'important' people, so went to fetch Civello. Dreth gave his version of events, then I gave mine. 'Contradicting' was not the word for those two accounts.

Naturally, Civello believed Dreth, which pinned me as some kind of nymphomaniac. Civello ordered me to confess. I refused. He dislocated my shoulder by slamming me against a wall, using my arm for more force. Consequently, I threw another bowl at _him, _but he closed the cell door before it could break his nose. He really didn't like me much after that.

I popped the shoulder back into its socket, ironically, by slamming it against the same wall. It hurt far more than it did when it came out, and the sound which ripped from my throat was similar only to the cries of prisoners _really _being tortured.

I shook myself out of my trance with three tight blinks of my eyes. "Sorry," I uttered softly, brushing it off, "Just feels like I've lost too much time."

Lucien smiled again, his eyes taking on a warm aura as he pulled me back to the present; the pat wiped by a simple gaze. "I know how that feels," he assured, his voice distantly close, "After I left High Rock, it felt like sixteen years had just been forcefully erased."

"And _I _know how that feels," I replied, sighing, "Only it was over a ten year difference in time."

He lowered his gaze. "I suppose that I _do _have less reason for being sullen than you," he answered gently, eyes rising, "You know, that's also a ten year difference in age as well."

"I guess you're right," I replied, maybe more lacklustre than he was expecting. "Sorry, I forget humans' fixation with age; it's never bothered me - never bothered _my _family, anyway. Since a couple of generations ago we've tended to live a lot longer than expected, so I can't really place how old people look."

Lucien's expression very quickly became intrigued as he rested his chin on his hand. "I was under the impression that Dunmer lived around the same life span."

"Mostly, save for the Telvanni wizards," I explained, actually rather enjoying the fact that he seemed so interested, "There was one of us living during the Alliance Wars, when the three factions were warring over the Ruby Throne?"

I prompted this with a higher pitched inflection, to which he nodded with the bright eyes of engrossment.

"Well, that was over 800 years ago, but our family has only had two generations since then, which contradicts the belief that our life spans only reach about 300," I paused, then remembered the first fact; "She might have been involved in fighting the Daedra onslaught as well, from the realm of Coldharbour - that happened at the same time, I think.

"Anyway, she wrote about the place in a diary we had in our house, so I can only assume she got there through her soul being taken, absorbed there somehow."

Lucien gradually pieced together the information. "So this Daedric influence in her is possibly the reason then?"

"I suppose it must be," I smiled, "I also know that I'm named after her. I don't actually know her name, but I was _told _ that I'm named after her."

"If she managed to survive Coldharbour, then you're clearly just as strong as each other," Lucien replied as his gaze fixed quite firmly to mine, almost indulgently so; intense enough for me to have to look away, a surfacing blush on my face.

He didn't seem to be bringing up any topic of conversation, just continuing to gaze in my direction with an unwavering sense of devotion. This wasn't _ab_normal of him, therefore didn't unnerve me, nor did it feel so strange as it had before. The only thing which _would _be strange is if an entire day passed _without _receiving this look, _and _if I didn't give the same reaction every time. He had probably become rather practiced with this over the years. I still couldn't help that seeing through it and figuring out what he really meant was often difficult - it was his reaction to most things, however trivial - and even though this one was rather obvious, I wasn't risking the small likelihood that I could be wrong.

"What?" I smiled, glancing back while trying to use the little campfire as a cover for the colour of my face.

Lucien recoiled slightly, broken from a trance as his eyes moved away. "It's just very refreshing that you know so much, and so many other people are obsessed with current events only," he calmly stilled, then slowly met my eyes, "It's far more useful to be aware of what made the present so than knowing every insignificant thing happening at only one time. Stops any unwanted repetitions, I find."

I smiled again in agreement, fully aware of the flattery which he intended - this repetition wasn't exactly _un_wanted though. Nothing wrong with receiving compliments.

"Speaking of the past," I began, thrown off again, "What were we talking about before?"

"I think it was that one-dimensional boyfriend you mentioned," he replied with a hint of disdain.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, of course," I uttered bitterly, "There's really not much more to be said about _him. _ I don't think he deserves the attention.

"So, any bad relationships on _your _part? Just out of interest."

He gave a small and mischievous smile, only too aware of the obvious change of attention. "Well, I don't believe I've _caused _any, but I suppose one certainly qualifies for being bad."

I'd leaned forward, intrigued the most by this statement like a curious child. He comically rolled his eyes at my silent prying and interest in negativity.

"Surprisingly, this was not at its worst when I considered us _together,_" he began, his tone distinctive of one making a joke of something they once thought to be very serious, "Her name was Christine, and she was probably what you could call obsessive.

"Saying that, I didn't realise that her tendency to be…_over-_needy would end up being such a problem later on."

"You mean that 'work versus pleasure' predicament?" I inquired.

Lucien smiled and sighed. "I wish it _had _been something like that," he commented, then continued to explain, "Christine was actually my first girlfriend, and so I had no idea that she wasn't quite…normal.

"I was quite under the impression that all was well, considering the relationship had lasted just over six months, but _she _didn't see it that way."

"Oh," I interjected, understanding exactly what he meant now, "One of those people who wants to spend every minute of every day with you. I've had one of those too."

Lucien grinned. "She's also one of those people who constantly needs assurance of someone's feelings. It was exhausting," he replied with past exasperation, "It was also so tiring when attempting to put some distance between us: she acted so desperate that there was no way of getting around her with her constant requests to se me.

"Eventually, after another two months of not being able to escape her even when _trying _to avoid her, I realised that there was no way of easily getting out at all, especially when I never knew when or where she'd be showing up next."

"So how _did _you end it?" I asked, maybe a bit too enthusiastically, "Had her killed? I probably would have done that."

Lucien gave me a look as though he'd foreseen this response. "Fortunately she never became _that _much of an irritant," he answered, smiling at my slight disappointment, "No, it was easier than that: I simply told her that I'd realised that she, and indeed any other females, were not exactly my type any more. She ignored me ever since."

I made a sound of impressed disbelief. "That _is _genius," I remarked, pausing before continuing, "I'm afraid it wouldn't have the same repelling effect if _I _tried that excuse on someone. I've never quite known exactly _why _it works like that."

Lucien began to roll his eyes, but paused with an expression of exhausted yet temporary boredom: he'd probably been prompted with a statement such as this before, though not from someone as disapproving. "I've never understood it either."

I smiled in agreement before thinking quickly of something else to ask. "So, how old were you then?"

"Do you mean when it started or when it ended?"

"Started, I meant," I replied, a little cautious in spite of the relaxed atmosphere.

"I was eighteen," he responded, perfectly willing to answer, "Ended it when I was nineteen."

"This _Christine,_" I continued, unintentionally villainising her name, "Sounds just too obsessed for someone that age."

"That's precisely what I thought," he agreed, then laughed, "I certainly feel sympathy for anyone else who got stuck with her since then."

He smiled with the same charm that had started this conversation, eyes settling again on me. "And at what age did you start?"

"Dating?" I almost spluttered, not fully expecting the mutual interest, not again anyway, "Well, I was sixteen actually."

"What about," he paused, gaze fixed in the air for a few moments before slowly returning, "First kiss?"

"Also sixteen," I answered to the strangely expected question. "Why? You happen to wait a year before yours?"

Lucien gave a small laugh. "I actually met Christine a week before I turned nineteen, so technically, I suppose you _could _say that."

"Okay, my turn to ask something," I filled in, oddly self-confident on my part. Now I'd given this a high expectation; I could either use this opportunity for shock factor, or I could up with something unexpected. Eventually, I came to a compromise.

"Out of…interest: how long after that kiss did you two start sleeping together?"

He gave a short laugh of incredulity that I had, indeed, gone straight into this subject. I, in turn, gave a smile of acknowledgement: I possibly hadn't expected this question in those blunt words, but those were the ones that escaped.

"Is this relevant in any way?" he attempted to reply naively, but this façade was broken by the smile which had been evoked rather quickly; willing to answer, yet curious about my intent.

I sighed. "Sort of," I began carefully as I turned my eyes away for a few seconds, "It's more of an assurance, really."

"Of?"

"Whether or not every person _I _seem to attract is a bastard," I admitted with a quickened tone, as though it wouldn't be taken in. By Sithis, psychology was pathetic.

"The unappreciative type again?" he remarked with an unwavering tone of spite, "Well, to answer your question, it was two months after. But if correct in my first assumption, there are no advances on that time, are there?"

"No, you're right on that one," I responded, my pleasant voice adopting an underlying solemnity, "In the test as to whether or not they're normal, they fail miserably."

"You count me as normal?" he asked, flattered and bemused.

"I've never had any qualms about assassins, for your information," I I answered as though giving a snobbish book review, "I've always happened to find very enigmatic and intriguing."

"How is that working out?"

"Well enough, though certainly not as glamorous as the books make it out to be."

"Of course not: all books are products of fiction on certain levels, depending entirely on the views of the author themselves," Lucien explained, even when it was clear there was something entirely different being formed in his head at the same time. "When you say 'they failed miserably'…"

"I mean exactly those words," I continued, not seeing a point in evasion, "I wanted someone who cared, yet none of them did. Pretence was a strong point on their behalf though.

"The first time I started seeing someone, all we ever really did was meet up every now and then, nothing serious. The first bout of cynicism began with the second, who had supposedly agreed to 'wait' until we were _both _eighteen. It turned out that he'd been sleeping with another girl, _while _seeing me, then had the cheek to toss me aside after getting exactly what _he _wanted."

I realised my tone had built unnecessarily to a controlled but fuming high, and peered over at Lucien to make sure he hadn't mentally passed me off as putting this the wrong way - which I hadn't, of course: if I knew that I was to blame for something, I'd take that. But he wasn't uninterested in the slightest. It only appeared as though he shared in my feelings. A smile of minor embarrassment was conjured as I gazed into the hazel eyes acting now as a mirror.

"On what grounds?" he asked, addled.

"He didn't seem to like the fact that I knew more than him," I retorted, "I liked to read, so he told me I was 'a little dull' for his taste."

"Sounds just _wonderful,_" Lucien mocked in a pretence of charm, "I see _exactly _why you liked him now."

I flicked some nearby snow from the ground towards him as the both of us laughed. "Shut up," I said softly before he went to block the stray flakes with one outstretched hand, "But you don't seem to make the best decisions either."

He smiled and made a sound like he was stifling a laugh, but not a continuation of the first one; it was as though he was aware of a fact so seemingly obvious which I hadn't seen clearly as of yet. I looked at him to explain this reaction as well as his reasoning, but as I silently expected, I didn't really obtain any of this in detail.

"I'm quite certain that a few have been correct," he affirmed as he met my gaze again, a hint of a glimmer within the naturally shadowed brown irises; deep and direct.

"Were you in love with any of them?" I asked as an affably blunt question, "And I mean truly, deeply in love."

He smiled with recollection as his eyes drifted momentarily, but then came immediately back. "Only once, although it wasn't the same case with her," he explained progressively, "I wanted to see her, yet the Brotherhood came first in priority - I probably didn't realise the extent of time which was spent away from her, but it turned into too much for her to put up with. I don't blame her at all."

"Sounds like a compromise is in order," I commented lightly, "You've never thought of falling for anyone you work with, I take it?"

There was that smile, and that laugh again. What was he _not _saying?

"Not yet, it seems," he answered enticingly, though a tone which was nothing but hesitant broke through. "I _think _that I've fallen that deeply only _once _since then but…well…"

He trailed off, still with a smile though his eyes turned down, frozen in the same time frame for a few more seconds in font of me. Nothing but the hissing sparks of the campfire could be heard, as though it was a build-up of suspense before something was again thrown into the vocal cosmos. In case of that, I prepared my own voice to start first, but the new expression on Lucien's face - one I could only describe as divulgence - was too surprisingly magnetic for to go ahead.

"Overall, how many relationships have you been in?" he inquired bewitchingly, his smooth tone now suddenly recharged to its peak.

I returned the smile, again not seeing any reason not to give an honest reply. "Four," I continued, "Of which none of them loved me."

"Were you ever in love with them?"

I considered that for a moment, though a moment was all it took. "No; I may have believed I did, or_ made _to think it, but the depressing aspect is that it's never been real," I explained, letting whatever came to mind simply waffle out of my mouth, "If it _was _genuine, then I probably wouldn't have to keep reminding myself of what I was meant to be feeling, or pretending I had experienced every sappy convention of what love is meant to be. That's precisely how I knew it was fake. I just don't think it would ever be as obvious as that even if it _had _existed."

Lucien was gazing almost in silent expectation and awe while I spoke, this trance only appearing to break power as I fully engaged back in eye contact, but even that was momentary; his eyes hesitantly evaded by turning down, but quickly – and unusually demurely – came back.

But I _knew _that reaction. It was of my own, one which only seemed to arise when he was around. Surely I couldn't exert the influence that he did, could I? It was probably something entirely different though, if I was right about him that was. So I just carried on acting as I normally did – why should I not when there was no evidence suggesting otherwise? It was strange though: his face acting _so _like a mirror.

"They don't particularly sound good enough for _anyone_, let alone to breathe air," he commented, half-rolling his eyes with disapproval. "You're not someone they even deserve to know."

I looked up at him, an indefinite softness in his gaze causing me to doubt my previous assumption a little. His eyes didn't leave me – they refused.

"You actually mean that?" I asked both carefully and inquisitively, not wanting to ward off anything I might need to hear from him.

"Of course I do," Lucien assured gently, a sharply soft tone of disbelief cutting through his voice, "It's more than plainly obvious that you're strong, you're intelligent, _and _have an invulnerable sense of purpose. How even one person could think of hurting you like that is beyond me.

He hesitated, and then his eyes shifted as though he was checking over my expression. I carried on watching the ever-changing yet subtle alterations on his face; quickened pace of thought; questioning of whether or when to speak. Noticing my anticipation, which had toned down its initial enthusiasm by a couple of seconds, and blinked once in minor preparation, his eyes averting for a second time.

"I couldn't imagine even considering it," he murmured, just loud enough as though someone could be listening in. His eyes rose again, somehow lighter; there were small verdant flecks visible in them, suddenly sprouted from the more commonly occurring dark umber – such as a cloudless midnight would do on fields of white snow, but with the glistening crimson of the larger of the two moons in the sky. His gaze was just as direct and just as deep with ardour as its rays. I'm not sure that I even heard him breathe in before he spoke again, his mouth half-opening for a moment without a sound.

"_I _would never do that to you," he concluded, subtle emphasis on almost every word while continuing to pull in my gaze with intense sincerity.

I didn't quite know how to take this statement. I didn't really know if I had any reply for him. Most importantly, I didn't have much of an idea as to what he _really _meant by it. In a word, Lucien was ambiguous to say the least; anything he said could be interpreted to link with several _other _connotations, unless asked a direct question.

I wasn't rejecting it, yet it made me edgy that I had nothing to say. My expression didn't give these whirring thoughts away though – I remained pleasant, no confusion visible to his eyes. There was no clear answer that I could imagine he wanted from me – a few vague ones came to me, but muddled words in the place of sense only – nor did I know what I wanted to answer with either.

Eventually I smiled as I turned my eyes away, a short enough time passing in order to make it look as though I was thinking instead of rendered mute before I gazed back warmly at his face, his eyes adopting a mildly doubtful glaze.

"Probably because you actually know more about me than they ever did," I replied in an almost subconscious manner, though still convincingly demotic.

Did I really plan those words, or did they simply materialise spontaneously? It didn't matter all that much – there was nothing in my head that told me I should have taken them back. Perhaps I didn't want to.

Lucien returned a half-smile, eyes still bright for our darkened surroundings. "Same goes for you," he responded as his eyes drifted to another place, lost somewhere unspoken; unheard of by me.

His voice was stalling, perhaps stuck as he suddenly breathed in deeply with a vague look of resolve. His eyes held mine again as he tilted them upwards, head still appearing hesitantly subdued in its angle. This gaze was absorbent, closing in tighter around mine than any had before, but despite the previous uncertainty of his words, shaking this off wasn't an option in my mind.

A slight and self-assuring smile was on his face then, as I accepted the sheer amount of attention he gave out in one change of expression; one apparent change of feeling reflecting through the familiar hazel sheen. He breathed in once again, then shifted just a small distance closer in my direction.

"Elenar, listen - "

He tried to begin, softly and almost shyly, but there was an interruption.

A sudden, sharp break sounded in a reverberating echo behind me. My mind's wants were dismissed over my instinct's need to turn around, facing whatever it was head on. I did not feel fear – this _was _the wilderness, after all. It could be any sort of animal passing by. But I had our context to consider at the same time: it could be _anyone _passing...or searching. Apprehension was the main feeling then.

I had picked up on the sound first, but in turn, Lucien looked to my point of focus; I heard the steps as he moved gradually forward, wanting to listen for more clearly audible noise. The silence was deafening in the suspense created, and since Shadowmere was deathly still under the pine trees where she had lay sleeping, it was obviously not caused by her.

She was up now, ears pricked and sniffing at the air with an outstretched neck. She was intrigued, but still didn't budge from her spot; I hoped that was because she was now uninterested by it rather than just as unsure as us.

My sight flicked to Lucien, who was at my left side now, kneeling as though preparing to pounce. For a few seconds, the dismissed paranoia in his eyes returned, looking to me as if I could reassure him that it wasn't at all what we were both thinking. The feeling appeared overwhelming: we'd _both _forgotten about it for a while, if for sanity's sake, and the desperate urgency was clear in our gaze. I could only tell him with a look that if the worst was true, then I'd back him up without a second thought. I'd protect him even if it meant the worst happening to me. From what I saw of his expression, I believed he told me the same.

There was another snap of something from the ground – if this _was _a person, they weren't exactly subtle – followed by an extremely sharp whinny from Shadowmere. As I spun around again, it was in time to watch the silhouette of an elk dashing away in the opposite direction, then Shadowmere appearing quite proud of herself for scaring away the impending threat, trotting back to her spot.

I, on the other hand, let out a deep sigh of relief and nervous burst of laughter. I heard Lucien's more deserved cathartic breath, felt the warmth of it brush the side of my neck because he had moved so close. His smile was evident through just this one sound, even when I wasn't facing him.

The initial surprise of the conflicting temperatures drew my attention back towards him, and the ghost-like feeling of his eyes on me only served the purpose of turning my head that bit faster. But my sight didn't get that far anyway, though it had been subliminally persuaded that it needed to.

Instead, my gaze was caught by a misty turquoise reflection on the water's surface, like a veil over a mystical portal. The empty darkness was filled now with the brightest light, of these rippled ribbons as well as the red crescent of the imposing moon, set free from behind what had been a constant cover of cloud. I didn't even know how long this had been present, but my late realisation didn't dull my vivacity of this image.

If I had thought the _reflection _was a thing of beauty, my reaction when I was able to tear my eyes up to the clear night sky put my first to utter shame. Silence took my voice as I saw the bold emerald aurora stretched aflame over the cloudless backdrop of the star-filled darkness, slowly and elegantly quivering as though in synchronised dance. It was...indescribable. All that I was able to do was gape in fascination at this natural majesty of the north, weaving ruby and lilac wisps over the distant mountains and moons, like separated spider's web streams; unattached, making no sense at first until simply accepted as being so. Just the sight of them felt like I was a witness to the thought of a revelation turned to art.

"You've never seen this before, have you?" Lucien questioned, his tone an admiring one as the smile was easily heard again.

"Is it _that _obvious?" I responded rhetorically, not able to keep my in awe enthusiasm out of my answer, "I've _read _about how beautiful they are, but I never imagined seeing them like this. I didn't even think I'd _get _to see them."

I gave up using effort to watch, and so quickly lowered myself to the ground to lay down instead. The soil was nearly stone cold and hard, but after two nights of this already, one got used to the technicalities which accompanied sleeping outdoors. I gazed upwards with wide, childish eyes as a once imagined scene from my memory took place, though the idea of context hadn't been an option at that age.

Maybe half a minute or so had passed before my head began functioning again, but that couldn't be helped. I turned towards Lucien, still sitting nonchalantly beside me, putting a hand behind my head so I didn't get dirt on one side of my face. Subliminally, he seemed to know my eyes were on him, and so almost immediately looked down from the sky to meet my gaze; his eyes momentarily flickering with each colour from the light spectrum above.

"What were you saying earlier?" I asked calmly, potential stress drained from me now, "I mean, _before _the elk incident."

Lucien's smile relinquished by the slightest waver as I spoke, his eyes shifting away and back to me as though searching again for the words _and _how to put them. It seemed an aspect of his previous resolve and purpose had weakened; perhaps he had wanted to say this by his own accord instead of being prompted, but the emotion that I'd first witnessed didn't quite match.

"I know you've put a lot of trust in me," he began, his voice controlled but filled with a nervous anticipation of what judgement he might receive, "But I don't really have a plan of what to do after we arrive in Riften, or even if we _are _let in to the Thieves' Guild. I have no idea what awaits us after that point but, whether or not it concludes positivity, I have to ask if you still think you've placed your judgement correctly."

The honesty in his eyes undeniable, as it was in my answer. "The past and present may exist, Lucien, but the future does not yet," I explained with reassuring assertion, "It doesn't really matter what you _think _is going to happen as a result of something until the possibility makes itself clear. So, until the evidence arises that you're an appalling decision-maker, I'll continue to trust you."

He thought about that, and gradually his seriousness fragmented away, giving way to another smile as his expression relaxed. "That's rather flattering of you," he declared in a hushed tone before shifting forward, allowing space in order to fall back slowly to the ground; his face now about half a metre away from mine as he turned towards me. "And _you _actually mean that?"

I gave a weak laugh. "Nice flashback humour," I commented before actually answering, "But _yes_, I mean that."

Lucien hinted at the intention that he was about to say something more, but his gaze turned recluse, retreating from the fleeting idea before moving his attention to the show of dancing lights above; expression immediately brightened and open with admiration of the spectacle.

I watched him for a few seconds more, though I didn't know whether he was aware of that or not - probably was, though. I felt almost honoured to be able to witness this particular side of him when so may others knew so little, other than the fact of what he represented; his title; _what _he was in the place of _who. _They viewed him simply as someone who gave orders every once in a while, and I suddenly realised, as I gazed straight up at the sky again, that if I hadn't been appointed as a Silencer then perhaps that's all I would ever think as well.

But after all this was over with, what then? Would I just continue to take indirect letters as orders from him? Whatever happened, I had no idea about how anything could feel as normal or natural as this time again; firing off questions as though we were friends who had known each other far longer than just eight months.

Did I consider this a stroke of _good _fortune, then - however minimally that could be thought of as being? It wasn't the first time I'd believed that possibility, though maybe not as prevalently as now. Sometimes it was so subtle I hadn't even paid much attention to its presence. _Or _hadn't wanted to dwell on it so early on, when the thought was still so raw and unrefined. But now I could hear it clearly in my head: I could somehow see the blessing, however small, amidst the Brotherhood's betrayal. I was glad I'd been able to spend so much time just talking to him. I asked myself the same question I always had done to make sure of things: if I _could _choose to be anywhere else, would I take the opportunity?

I couldn't favour the outdoors over a warm tavern or inn, but that wasn't the main issue of my query. Even if this option arose, but just for myself, I _wouldn't _take it. Even after such a short time, it would still seem unusual to not know that Lucien was nearby. I didn't think the questioning the reasoning for this was necessary; I just knew that I felt perfectly comfortable around him, and even that he'd picked up on just _how _much trust I _did _have for him was proof enough that we were able to understand each other.

Briefly, I glanced at him, though I didn't know why I needed to, and met his drowsily alert eyes; wondering at this himself. As soon as he saw my surprised expression he smiled in return, humorous light in his eyes as he laughed softly. I was the one who moved my gaze away with mild embarrassment, unable to look him in the eye.

His eyes, ironically, I could somehow still feel on me, yet there was no desire I had for that to stop.

* * *

An hour passed, then another without incident or disturbance. In the space of even this long, Lucien could not even evade the resonating question that echoed through his mind: could words truly be so difficult to voice?

In his head he had gone over what he would say, how it would sound to someone else and intended reactions on countless occasions, but when he began to consider those intentions _real _life, they always seemed to fall short. He feared it if what he explained was rejected or put down, but he doubted very much that Elenar was one to do that as brashly as what terrified him. The worst had to be planned out though.

Elenar. Just the idea of her in his head wasn't enough. Lucien turned his head to the right, resting the side of his face on his folded arms, in turn propped on the knees he had previously brought up to his chest. His eyes fell upon her, asleep on the bedroll just opposite to him. The campfire may have extinguished a long time ago, but small shimmering highlights of red were emphasised in her short dark hair by the distant starlight; her face as exquisite to him as a masterfully carved face of a statue. A specialist artist could not possibly capture the perfection which he perceived in her.

It was what Lucien believed for almost every day that he'd known of her: she was so held in reverence by him starting from the day he'd first set eyes on her; the guise of nobility and bravery in her far beyond just admirable. But she was so highly regarded by Lucien that he had only become inferior in that scale, even to himself sometimes.

He had thought it as simple as that: respect, trust, admiration of everything that she was capable of. Then he'd met her. Then he'd spoken to her; heard her voice address him for the first time. It had not frozen his senses because he didn't even realise what that voice, those eyes, could possibly make him feel as deeply as it had led to.

But he'd fallen down this hole before, and should have expected it from that shock before he'd hit the ground. But if one had subconsciously dug that much deeper, enough so the surface was out of reach, it would expectedly take that bit longer to even realise how far you _were _falling. Lucien had quite willingly lowered that landing point with each visualisation of her face, every word she said repeating on a loop inside his head, and every longing smile she prompted, just by simply standing next to him. It was enough for him to not want to climb out of this hole - why would he even consider that? She was lying asleep beside him, nothing intriguing and yet, because it was her, he considered it the most beautiful out of any time he'd witnessed another do the same. He thought it an act of blasphemy with even the idea of someone wanting to escape from this feeling.

And yet the feeling tortured him all the same. Every thought or opinion gladly poured out of his mouth to her in the place of the words he could even hint at. Even now, when she was so close he couldn't reach out to her, emotionally _or _physically. The night that she'd convinced him to leave Applewatch, the absolute shock of her arms around him had almost pinned him to the spot in paralysis; when he had wanted nothing more than to hold her for so long.

He had only confirmed it to himself tonight, of _exactly _what it was that he felt. He _did _know so much about her, more than he did of any members of the Dark Brotherhood he once called friend. But unlike them, he had _wanted _ to know about Elenar. He'd made it quite clear to the both of them that he craved to know everything. The main reason was that if he ever said anything to her feelings-wise, then he wanted to make sure he _really _knew who he was talking to.

There was a smaller part in him that desperately wanted something, anything, he could disapprove of. The entrapping feelings would be put to rest, and she could simply be someone else to him rather than the girl who seemed to fit every ideal he could possibly think of.

He'd heard no such thing. In his eyes she was now his equal yet so flawless still. So why were these words so hard to conjure?

More than hesitantly, Lucien dragged his gaze away with an indignant sigh, though the instinct of survival immediately resurfaced as he resumed scanning the area. There was no movement around, not the sounds which would catch his attention, anyway. The occasional rustle of pine branches and crunching snow under animals' feet were not the threat that a human could be: trackers, Imperial scouts or even bandits in these parts could prove a risk if questioned at any time about travellers.

It was twenty minutes later that he decided on abandoning his watch: if there was anyone following them then they probably would have found this location by now, though only if they were determined. There was no one that Lucien could see approaching, not from any direction. He allowed the strength in him to falter, his eyes only now beginning to ache from concentration of staying awake, focused in continual preparation for being alert. He lowered back onto the blanket behind him with another sigh, gazing somnolently up at the new translucent shards of emerald still lingering in the indigo sky.

This had not been the first time he'd seen those lights, and yet the immersive feeling which he'd experienced then had not changed. The overpowering beauty could not be denied by anyone, nor did it decrease by each occasion that the phenomenon was witnessed. It only caused the heart of his appreciation to soar as though it was the first time again.

He rolled his head to the right, with Elenar's serene expression in his line of focus. She was the only other thing which provoked the same response: he met her eyes, spoke with her, simply knowing that he _would _see her, and the feeling became overwhelming. He would end up needing to rehearse how to say any word beforehand in case he stopped mid-sentence; remind his eyes to move naturally as though she was all he needed to see, focus on anything else when she was all his thoughts allowed to be visible. Even now, , just looking at her, he couldn't help but insatiably imagine just how it would feel to wake each morning and she was there beside him.

That couldn't happen if he said nothing.

There would be no other opportunities to tell her anything after they got to Riften. By then, the next move would have to be planned, and Elenar would feel all too unfamiliar with the Guild's setting to listen to anything other than plans to leave. He could say something after Mathieu Bellamont was revealed as the true traitor, but foreseeing any changes that could occur by that time was impossible to comprehend. Then again, Lucien was not able to foresee an alteration that could happen by tomorrow, let alone the day after tomorrow.

They would arrive in Kynesgrove by tomorrow evening. If by then self-doubt and fear had been eradicated - or forced to - from his mind, he would tell her. Whether or not she would accept that was not yet an issue, if the present existed and the future did not.

He felt a small smile on his face as he continued to watch her, though his eyelids were gradually weighting down on his vision, his mind beginning to wander ahead of itself again. He now began attempting to form that monologue into real words in the place of thoughts, trying to put together something which would hopefully not sound as though he was just quoting from a piece of literature.

But all that he really had to say was the simplest of phrases: that he _did _love her. The surprise of hearing those words in his head for the first time was as unexpected to him as it would certainly be for Elenar. With a newly surfaced pleasure, he allowed those words - the ones he had waited so long to hear himself say - to repeat again in his head: he loved her.

* * *

He loathed him. He could rip Lachance to shreds right now. Just with the image of him looking content made Mathieu Bellamont sick to his stomach.

There was a graduated rock face at one side of this pond, and perched like a falcon, behind one boulder at its edge was where he peered down from. Scaremongering had easily worked even before he knew Lachance and his dearest Silencer had made a exodus to Skyrim. Just when everything was going so according to plan.

Although, Bellamont _had _ordered each remaining Speaker to watch the borders of Cyrodiil's neighbouring provinces, and it was simply coincidence he had been at this one. He'd moved from Falkreath quickly up to Helgen, where that foolish tavern girl was so obliging to tell him who had passed through the town over the last few days. This led him further North, thinking Lachance would be wanting to escape as far away as possible, and that would only mean North.

He'd kept asking, questioning, interrogating as many as he could, as fast as he could. Clearly, he'd arrived in The Pale just before they did, going to the mill nearby to inquire about travellers. The woman appeared as though she could be trusted with relaying information if he returned later, and surely enough, that's precisely what she did. She didn't want her dear little girl hurt by mean assassins now, did she? The Imperial drunkards had also been such help to him.

Now he was here, and there was Lachance! The girl couldn't possibly have a clue how to fight him off. Mathieu could quite easily throw her aside or slice her throat as simply as he could with anyone else, then immediately go in for what would be a slow, painful, and exhilarating final kill. Nothing would be more pleasurable, more with a feeling of victory, than _his _head mounted on a spike! Perhaps Mathieu wouldn't even have to get past the girl - from the looks of it, Lachance would be protecting _her _more than himself…

He'd be protecting her.

Well, wasn't this interesting? It appeared that he _had _fallen for the little elf. Well, it seemed inevitable from the gushing account he'd given Ocheeva after getting back from the bandit contract all that time ago. From what he'd said, someone would have believed she was a Daedric Prince.

Oh, but this could be used so perfectly to his own advantage, and so fitting it would be too. Lachance had taken Mathieu's beloved mother, after all, so why shouldn't he do just the same to this girl who held such an important spot in the heart Mathieu only wished to cut out.

But killing her himself would only deprive him of the death originally envisioned for his mother's murderer, certainly not with the same satisfaction over this manner of execution. He couldn't bear it though: why should someone like that still be allowed the privilege to live when Mathieu only felt half dead?

And then a thought occurred to him. Mathieu _could _let _him _deal with this…problem. It would send Lachance straight back to square one, preferably screaming all the way. _He, _of course, without a shadow of a doubt, would enjoy that opportunity to be able to kill one of the Dark Brotherhood himself, especially _her, _and a few favours were definitely owed to Mathieu after all the assistance given to aid his cause.

Leaving now, irritating as that was, would allow him to reach the city of Blacklight by late morning, and the organisation to be complete by some time later the same day. Instructions would finally be carried out by the _following _morning. Mathieu smiled sickly to himself. This was better than he could have expected it to be. What fun he would have with this: toying so heavily on Lachance's emotions like that…

But that was enough unnecessary visions of the future - he had to make this happen instead of simply imagining what it would be. Carefully, Mathieu paced backwards, filling in his previous footprints behind him, watching for any stray twigs or stones so he didn't alert that damned horse at the bottom of the slope. But he didn't. Mathieu Bellamont slipped away under the shrouded shadow of the night, mutely cackling under his breath as he reached the pine trees which bordered Eastmarch.

Strange, he thought, anyone who heard him would think he was crazy with joy, or simply _just _crazy. Maybe they'd be right…


End file.
